


Tales of the Scented Harbour

by livierambles



Series: Sometimes, you just really need to punch your way home [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman Incorporated (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, from enemies to sort of siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-09-02 17:19:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8676058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livierambles/pseuds/livierambles
Summary: Three facts about the Final Crisis aftermath:- Batman was dead- Jason Todd found out his resurrection was a universal glitch- Cassandra Cain wasn't Batgirl anymore
Three facts about the world a month after the Final Crisis aftermath:- Batman was alive and strangely prone to puns- Jason Todd was working with law enforcement- Cassandra Cain was working with a crime lord
The last two were, of course, pretty much the same point.And It only took a few savage fight, a few dead bodies, and one bitter cantonese grandma to get it to happen.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> For those who read the Bat's Crest: ta-daa!  
> For those who don't: this is really a prequel so you don't need to read it at all. Enjoy a bit of gen relation building between these two pre-flashpoint characters! (but hey if you really like it you can go check out the Bat's Crest)

**A month ago**

 

A lot of people believed Jason to be insane. Jason himself wasn’t too sure. Madness was a common side-effect of the Lazarus Pit, after all, and Ra’s Al Ghul wasn’t exactly a model of mental health himself. Despite his bias though, he had always found his mind to be clear. He couldn’t deny having given in to his anger for a few years after coming back from the dead, but never, in all that time, had he lost track of the bigger picture.

Jason always knew what he was doing, why he was doing it, and how he was doing it. Even in the middle of a battle he refused to give in to fear and anger to the point of losing his cool. That was Jason Todd: the man who was constantly taking the next step in his war against crime.

Jason wasn’t the type to take a break between adventures, or to give in to a fight.

Not so long ago, or not long enough for it to be obsolete, Jason had been facing Batman. The altercation had proved something fundamental about the young crime-fighter: Jason was eerily rational, even in his darkest moments. Taking over the criminal underworld, playing with Batman like a playwright with his characters, taking out Black Mask and nearly the Joker at once - without them even being the priority - and avoiding collateral damage and dragging in civilians all the same - that was _not_ the work of a madman.

The Red Hood didn’t consider himself an enemy of the Bats. He didn’t want them dead, he didn’t even wanted them to fail. On the contrary, he wanted them to wake up and get better at what they do. But they wouldn’t listen. And they were going to get another Robin killed someday. Just because of some misplaced sense of moral superiority.

He was _justified_ in his anger. He _wasn’t_ insane.

Yet his still had to convince himself of that again, everyday, and every time he faced a mirror.

He needed time alone. Just him and the giant Bat symbol in front of him.

Down in the streets, the city was alive. Cars were honking, people were yelling at each other, babies were crying, couples were hiding in dark alleys, dogs were chasing stupid pigeons - the smells and sounds of Gotham felt far away up on rooftops. It was the middle of the day and everyone was with someone doing something - or the other way around - except for Jason.

For him, it was like time had stopped. The part of his mind that was supposed to be dissecting everything he saw, hear, smelled or touched, that part that had been honed by Batman, Talia and all his other teachers, was completely tuning out his surroundings instead.

Just him and the Bat.

“He doesn’t come out during daytime, son.”

Jason turned his head to see the commissioner standing next to him, a warm cup of coffee in his hands. It was a very distinct cup of coffee, which, mixed with the scent of cigarette, characterised Jim Gordon. Blinded, deafened and concussed, Jason could have recognised the man by that alone.

Gordon on the other hand, did not show any sign of recognition, or even of suspicion. After all, Jason just looked like a normal twenty year old, without a domino mask or a helmet, and without any weapons on him. Besides, Gordon had not interacted with the Red Hood enough to make the connection, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to link him to the second Robin.

The dumbed out part of his mind wanted to ask the commissioner what the hell he was doing there, but this was the rooftop of the police precinct, and Gordon was not the one trespassing.

“I know,” Jason replied indifferently. He had known - it was why he was there at the moment and not anytime later. Bruce Wayne was likely too busy sleeping or recuperating to be Batman. That, and the fact that he wasn’t even sure if Bruce was alive at all.

“You a fan?” Jim asked, seemingly not disturbed that a random man had made it to the rooftop of his workplace without being noticed by anyone, “You have no idea how many we get trying to catch a glimpse of Batman.”

Jason raised an eyebrow. It was true that he had no idea Batman and Gordon had been dealing with that kind of problem.

“Just the other night, a young girl from Gotham Academy fell asleep under the beacon with a pile of drawings she wanted to show him,” Gordon continued, “I think she wanted to convince Batman to make her Robin or something. Never got to know in the end, Batman just carried her back to the Academy before she could wake up.”

That got a sad smile from Jason. Batman, figure of nightmares, cradling a little girl in his arms. He knew Bruce of course, and he knew the man was a huge marshmallow when it came to children and as long as the conversation didn’t go past the weather. But the sight of the Dark Knight being so considerate was rare and nostalgic.

The past was the past.

“But that's not why you’re here, is it?” Gordon guessed, “You haven’t even tried lighting the beacon yet, and you haven’t asked me about the scandalous relationship between me and Bats that the gossip column of the Gazette mentioned last Wednesday.”

“The Gazette is just pissed you won’t tell them anything,” Jason smirked, “you might want to do something about it before they start announcing Robin is your secret love child.”

Gordon’s mouth twitched and Jason knew it was a source of frustration for him. The Gotham Gazette wasn’t the Daily Planet; they weren’t afraid of running false stories for fame.

“I see you’re familiar with our newspaper’s… vindictiveness,” Gordon sighed, “I take it you’re from around here?”

“Born and raised a Gothamite,” Jason confirmed, allowing a hint of pride to seep through. Gotham was shit-hole on good days, but there was something about being in the city that, ironically, made him feel safe and right. “But I’ve been away for a while. Only just came back this morning actually.”

“So what does that symbol mean to you?” Gordon wondered, tapping on the black bat on the spotlight.

“Who said it meant anything?” Jason challenged.

“You've been staring at it for the bast fifteen minutes, son,” Gordon pointed out, “you're not fooling anyone. Besides, we’re in Gotham - the Bat means _something_ to everyone here.”

Jason looked back at the black cut out on the searchlight in front of them. Gordon was wrong, it wasn’t the Bat that people considered in Gotham, it was the Batman. The symbol itself had long grown much, much bigger than the man, but only a handful of people made the distinction. Not that it made much of a difference - Jason had always been conflicted about both.

“Fear or admiration,” Jason guessed, “are you asking to see if you should arrest me?”

“Criminals are not the only ones who fear the Batman,” Gordon told him solemnly, “and those who admire him are not always innocent.”

“So what do _you_ see in the Bat, commish?” Jason found himself asking, “You’ve met the man, surely you’ve been disillusioned of some of the myth.”

“Quite the opposite,” Gordon confessed, “it’s humbling to meet him as a cop. We like to think ourselves as this city’s crime fighters, but we’re no Batman. He does what we can’t, what we’re not brave enough to do. He makes impossible things possible. That’s why I installed this light. To me, the Batman is a symbol of hope - which is why I find it curious for a young man like you to be staring so intensely at it. I can’t tell if this hope is all you have left or if you’re desperately searching for some.”

Batman, a symbol for hope? Superman was usually the one mentioned in such context. People thought the Batman too dark, too violent to symbolise hope. It probably spoke volumes about Gothamites that Gordon, one of the noblest of them all, would say that.

“Or maybe I’m planting a trap to kill the Batman,” Jason joked, “maybe I’m just here to charge up on anger. You’re not going to give me the suicide prevention number, are you?”

Gordon didn’t seem to buy the partial truth.

“You'd be staring down the streets if I needed to,” the commissioner shrugged, “not the signal. Look, I know I’m no therapist, but I wear the badge for a reason, son. I have a duty to every citizen of this city and if you need an ear to unload on, well, you have twenty minutes before my lunch break is over.”

Jason couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. Gordon hadn’t changed. He was still the same man who was both driven and flippant. As far as righteousness went, Jason trusted Gordon more than Superman because while Gordon didn’t regularly endanger his life to save the planet, Gordon knew to when and where to make concession. He knew when to turn a blind eye to Batman’s illegal actions and he knew when to ask too many questions and when not to. Superman had one vision of Good, and he forced it on others. Gordon was focused on what was right, and he was willing to converse.

This was one of the times the commissioner was putting his faith in someone else’s judgement, namely Jason's. He hadn’t asked for his name, hadn’t asked how he had gotten there, nor had he warned anyone else of his presence. There was no lecture on the importance of life, no ‘it’s gonna get better’ and no ‘I understand’. All there was was silent support, the _choice_ of asking for help.

This was James Gordon, one of the few civilians the Bat-clan respected as much as their fellow heroes, the man who had a cup of hot chocolate waiting for Robin after long patrol nights.

“I recently found out I owed my life to a universal fuck up,” Jason admitted, feeling the cold wind pick up a bit, “literally. What the hell am I supposed to with that information?”

“You don’t _have_ to do anything about it, honestly,” Gordon pointed out after taking a sip from his coffee, “Doesn’t really matter if your shirt’s made in China or India - you wear it the same in the end.”

“That’s what I thought too,” Jason sighed, balling his cold hands into the pockets of his jacket, “before I knew. I mean - I hadn’t even cared enough to ask the question in the first place; I just got the answer by happenstance. But now that I know it’s just - I don’t even know what it is. It makes things _different_ but I don’t know _why_.”

“And staring at the Bat-signal was going to illuminate you on that?” Gordon asked with a raised eyebrow.

Of course not. Bats couldn’t speak.

Coming back to life after death was surprisingly common in the superhero community. Sometimes there was a Lazarus Pit involved, sometimes it was magic, sometimes it was some weird time travelling gig that went haywire. Either ways, it wasn’t the fact that Jason Todd had risen from the dead that was most disturbing about the man. It was the fact that one day, his eyes had simply opened again.

No explanation. No lead. Not even a theory.

Out of all the heroes, Jason Todd was far from the most remarkable. Prior to his death, he had been a sidekick and not even a particularly good one. He had been a Robin; a soldier without superpowers, without a destiny or a fated arch-enemy. He had been Jason Todd, street kid, son of a small time criminal and a junkie. He hadn’t even died in an extraordinary way - just a crowbar beating and an explosion.

But one day, he had opened his eyes again.

No one looked at Green Arrow or Superman the way they looked at Jason. It was human nature to fear the unknown and as far as unknown went, Jason took the crown. He had the reputation of being unpredictable and his rise from the grave only added to his mystery. Him being alive unsettled others, he knew.

He could hear them ask silently: Why him? Was he hiding any powers? Did he make a contract with a demon? Is he even really Jason Todd? What does he know about his death? About his life?

Nothing. The answer was nothing.

Jason wasn’t hiding anything, and he had known as much about his own resurrection as G'Nort did. He had never actively tried to look for the reason of his continued existence - there had been something gnawing at his mind whenever his thoughts had strayed to the topic. He had a feeling the answer would pull a Schrodinger; that the second they opened the box, it would be dead, but as long as it was hidden, there was still hope. Besides, he didn’t mind much not knowing, he wasn’t the type to sweat the small details.

He did, however, find out by accident. And unfortunately, he had been right not to look into it.

Knowing you were alive because of a glitch in the Universe didn’t do much for self-esteem. At least, before, he could pretend some higher power had given half a fuck about him, but as it turned out, it was all a big mistake. His death had been a mistake - oops, the Joker wasn’t supposed to do that - his survival had been a mistake - a side effect of shattering reality - his anger had been a mistake - let’s dip him into the Lazarus Pit and see, shall we? - Well, to be honest, Jason was used to being a mistake. His mother hadn’t intended to become pregnant, Batman hadn’t intended to raise such a violent kid to be Robin, the Joker hadn’t intended to create a super villain, hell, _Jason_ hadn’t intended to mess up so much and so many times.

But despite all the messing up and his usual devil may care attitude, that one revelation had rattled him more than he had thought he would, and he just couldn’t understand why. It just didn’t make sense. His resurrection had always been one of the last thing on his mind before - so why was it at its forefront now? Why did the answer to a question he hadn’t even cared about weighted so much on his heart?

Upon realising Jason wasn’t likely to answer his question, the commissioner broached another subject, “You chose a hell of a time to come back to Gotham.”

“I’m guessing it’s true then,” Jason concluded, “the Bat is dead.”

Gordon didn’t answer, or perhaps he couldn’t. It was hard to tell with how many close calls Bruce had had over the years. Yet the Bat was unmistakably absent these days, and an impostor was playing Bruce Wayne.

“The gangs are stirring,” Jason continued, “I heard there have been a few riots already.”

“We can deal with it,” Gordon told him, with him a warning look. You better not be thinking about getting involved, young man, he seemed to say. “you’re going to have to sit tight though. Gotham’s about to go through a rough patch.”

“Wouldn't be Gotham otherwise,” Jason muttered.

“Go home, kid,” Gordon advised, “you look tired.”

“Yeah, I should,” Jason agreed, walking towards the staircase and receiving a curious look from the commissioner. He stopped before he made it to the door though, and turned around for some last minute words, “You know, you shouldn’t sell yourself short, commish. You may never have been Batman, but it’s no secret that you’ve always been Gotham’s first hero.”

And then he was gone.

Go home. Where was home even these days?

He’d give Gotham another go. And if that didn’t pan out… Then maybe it was time for Jason to find another nest. He’d given up on Bruce, he could give up on Gotham. He was tired of feeling displaced.

 

**Two week ago**

 

Batman was dead.

Cassandra had seen Oracle, Nightwing and Robin — well, not Robin- _Robin_ anymore, but _her_ Robin — break at the news. It wasn’t the tears that had given them away. It was how Nightwing sometimes checked the shadows, how Robin had to stop himself mid-sentence to avoid adding “Right, Batman?” at the end, how Oracle deflated when she realised no one was there to take the final word from her during brainstorming sessions. It was the glances, the shoulders slumping, the sighs, the biting of the lips, and Alfred.

Oh Alfred.

Alfred was the worst.

There was always a slowness to his movements, a reluctance that betrayed his selfish desires. Any help Alfred brought to Batman destroyed Bruce Wayne, and he knew it only too well. And now, Alfred had to deal with everything he had always feared, as well as trying to keep his son’s family afloat.

Cassandra had always been less close to him than any of the others. Still, she found relief in knowing she wouldn’t be adding to his burden. He was old now, both in body and spirit.

It was strange though, how she couldn’t find it in herself to cry. Stephanie’s death had devastated her, but Batman’s, she had almost expected. He had prepared her.

Her relationship with Batman had always been a very peculiar one. She had never cared much for Bruce Wayne — in fact, she hadn’t even thought of Batman being anyone else than Batman until David Cain framed him for murder. Knowing didn’t change anything. Maybe this was why she was at peace with his death. Batman died fighting for others and lived on through Nightwing. If there was any one way she would have liked him to go, it was this one.

That _Bruce Wayne_ died was inconsequential.

But… Cassandra was going to miss having someone who truly understood her around. The others… They just didn’t get it. She wasn’t a normal girl. She didn’t want to be. She was a fighter. And she wanted to kick ass. To get better. To go _forward_. Batman understood; he too, didn’t like ‘normal life’.

“ _I won’t leave you a message, or include you in my will_ ,” he had once told her during a spar, a few days after her adoption, “ _by the time I die, you will already have received everything you need from me_.”

No softening the news. No padding his words. It was always better that way.

“ _The symbol of the Bat will always be yours to fight under so long as you respect its values,_ ” he had added, “ _but I can see that Gotham was never your home; so don’t let it become your obligation. The others may try to stick together — after what happened with Deathstroke and David Cain, I expect you won’t let them tie you down either. They’ll be strong enough to continue without me, so focus on yourself_.”

He hadn’t planned on dying so soon after, but he’d planned on dying eventually, and those were the parting words he had chosen to give her. A disobligation, and a sequence of instructions.

He had told her to give Stephanie the Batgirl mantle in the event of his death. 

He died. She stripped it off on a rooftop in the rain.

He had told her to ensure the Outsiders would continue their work.

He died. She created the Network and let Nightwing and Alfred supervise it.

He had told her to choose what followed herself, but to find a path nonetheless.

He died.

Nightwing was wearing Batman’s cowl now, and Damian had taken the role of Robin.

Everyone was moving along their own roads. It was Cassandra’s turn.

Now she had a nice, clean slate from which to start. No name to live up to. No family to make proud. No city to chain her feet. She could board the first boat she saw, and go on from there. 

In fact, she would.

 

**Today**

 

Cassandra caught on the window ledge, and pushed herself up. With a hidden lock-pick, she clicked it open, and slid inside without a sound. It was a small building, without much security, and the action had almost become routine to her. The darkness of the night barely phased her in her endeavour. 

Her feet dropped to the floor of the kitchen like cushions on a bed.

There was a bowl of fried rice covered in cellophane left out for her, but it was cold. The dishwasher was already running, and if it weren’t for the light coming from the living room, Cassandra would have guessed its inhabitants were fast asleep.

They weren’t though, which was strange.

Kevin was on patrol duty early in the morning, and his mother was too old to stay up so late. Yet she could unmistakably hear the sound of cutlery, as well as smell the chamomile infusion wafting through the air.

Cautiously, she tiptoed towards the next room.

Peeking in, she saw Kevin sitting at the small circular table. He was scooting as far away from the other side as possible, obviously scared and uncomfortable. Cassandra could pick on all the signs; his sweat, his stiffness, his carefully controlled breath, his hyper aware eyes… His mother didn’t seem to share his concern as she nibbled on some dried mango, but then again, his mother was a strange woman.

Truth be told, Cassandra tensed up a bit herself when she saw Kevin had a guest, and who it was. The guest spotted her immediately.

“I'd say welcome to Hong Kong,” the Red Hood growled, “but I think we both know I’m not too happy with you being here right now, especially after that stupid shit stunt of yours. So let’s get to it: give me _one_ good reason not to kill you right here right now.”

“Try,” Cassandra dared him blandly, crossing her arms.


	2. Plunging into boiling waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra doesn't ease into things. She dives.

First of all, a clarification.

Cassandra hadn’t _meant_ to get arrested.

So maybe she didn’t have any papers, and maybe she was wearing stolen clothes, but still. There was also the fact that she was technically an illegal immigrant, but no one really cared before, so. 

Either way, it was utterly ridiculous. She fought crime for a living. She could beat up everyone in the police station and run away, if she wanted. But she didn’t. She was cooperating. Because she recognised these guys were just doing their jobs. 

She had never been arrested before. Had working with Batman dulled her skills?

Cassandra never bothered to correct the others, but they often forgot where her real roots were. It wasn’t her time in Gotham that had forged her, nor was it her early childhood with Cain. The years she had built herself, the ones where she had been old enough to make up her own mind, yet young enough not to be set in stone, she had spent them drifting alone, fighting only for herself. She had never truly found a place to fit in, and she hadn’t wanted one. There was a certain peacefulness in being free from social obligations; to have no friends to be there for, no family to make proud, and no reputation to tender to.

Working amongst the Bats, maybe she had forgotten it as well.

The sea of people had taken her by surprise. It shouldn’t have. Gotham was never this crowded, sure, but it was no excuse. At first, it had been unnerving — her instincts kept her on guard. She had always been taught to stay away from strangers, and she had experienced first hand why multiple times. Alone, young, and seemingly harmless, she was everything they looked for in a victim. Some had tried before, mugging, rape, or other nefarious ends, without success. However, not since she had stepped into Gotham, and certainly not while she was wearing the bat on her chest.

She eventually suffocated her the anxiety the crowd brought her. How many years had she wandered around alone before being taken in by Oracle? She had grown spoiled, shielded.

It was slightly scary, living in the unknown like that, but Cassandra had somewhat missed it.

The crowded sidewalks of Hong Kong had paid her no attention. Here, everyone was a stranger to each other, and people minded their own business. The temperature was much hotter than in Gotham, but the people were colder. The buildings were taller, brighter, sleeker, but they lacked history. The air was heavier, and the streets almost immaculate. It was a cleaner city, with a greyer sky.

She was in a strange land she knew nothing about, where people spoke a language she couldn’t begin to understand. It was that feeling, the one of living at a different pace than the rest of the world, of being a square in a world of circles, that was the most familiar. This was her sea, her waters. And that simple reminder was enough to relax her. She was finally home.

Cassandra did as she would have done years ago, before words had ever entered her life. She had brought nothing with her, not a coin nor a batarang. She remembered her first priorities: clothes that could blend in, a safe place to rest, and a source of food or income. Of course, with her status, she would starve before she found legal work. However, there were always people willing to employ manual workers informally; it was only a matter of finding them.

Clothes. That had been her first mistake.

Stealing wasn’t great, and Batman would probably have been disappointed, but Batman was dead, and her ratty hoodie smelled of fish. She grabbed a simple blue dress hanging to dry between buildings, memorising the location to hopefully return it one day.

Of course, she had done this a hundred times before — perhaps not always with the intention of returning, but she had to have learnt _something_ from her time in Gotham — and it was only misfortune that had obstructed her way. Fine, Oracle would probably have said it was entirely her fault for never bothering with reading and writing, but in her defence, learning the alphabet wasn’t exactly helpful when it came to Chinese characters.

She had barely wandered away from that alley for a few minutes that a hand stopped her.

She was in the open. Next to a bite-sized children’s park. At midday. There were civilians around. Her training told her not to react violently. Instead, she turned to face the one whose hand had gone as soon as it had grabbed her shoulder.

It was a policeman. He was asking her questions. She couldn’t understand him.

He was serious though, and slightly tense. Stressed perhaps? He was rushing his words slightly, probably on the clock then. He pointed to the emblem at the root of her collar, which had some inscription on it, and asked more questions.

Her lack of response frustrated him, she knew. But while she could read he meant no harm, she really had no clue what he was on about.

The policeman suddenly reached for her face, and Cassandra backed out out of reflex. He gave her reassuring words, or at least, that’s what Cassandra guessed they were, and reached out once more to tilt her head up while he looked into her eyes. She let him. She recognised that gesture, Batman had done it sometimes to see if pupils were dilated.

Satisfied but confused, the policeman asked her another question.

People were gathering around them. Whispering. They were making a scene.

Cassandra signed something to try and give a plausible explanation for her behaviour. Hopefully the policeman would give up on interrogating her once he realised they couldn’t communicate. Most people didn’t know sign language. 

The policeman’s eyes widened, and he muttered what seemed to be an apology. Then, he took out a notepad, and scribbled her a bunch of drawings. Not drawings, _characters_. Words. It really didn’t help that her caucasian heritage didn’t show on her face. Everyone was going to assume she was a local.

What were the chances she could just knock him out and run? It certainly seemed like the only reasonable way out of this conundrum at the moment.

Too many witnesses.

Cassandra sighed.

“English?” She finally asked.

“Oh,” The policeman gasped, “Sorry, I thought —“ He frowned, “this _is_ the Heep Yunn school uniform, right? It’s written on your neck. How do you not speak cantonese?”

Aaaaand she made it worst.

His english was fluent enough, with only a slight cantonese accent. He was young for a policeman, obviously a rookie, but he wore the job like a well pressed suit. Or rather, the _job_ seemed to fit _him_ like a glove, not the other way around.

“Borrowed it,” Cassandra lied, “from a friend.”

“Can I see a piece of identification, please?” He asked, “An ID? A passport? A student card?”

Cassandra eyed a nerve point on his neck. All she needed to do was strike. It barely took half a second. Less if she was focused.

“I don’t have anything with me,” she told him, feeling how thin her excuse was as she spoke it.

“You should be at school right now,” the policeman pressed further, “are you skipping?”

“This isn’t my uniform,” Cassandra repeated, “I don’t go to school.”

“How old are you then?” The policeman frowned.

“Nineteen,” she replied earnestly.

The policeman rubbed the bridge of his nose. He looked a bit tired.

“I’m going to have to ask you to follow me back to the station, Mrs…?”

“Bruce,” she came up with, “Barbara Bruce.”

The policeman didn’t believe her.

So there — Clearly her skills had dulled. Years ago, she wouldn’t have blinked twice at the thought of rendering the policeman unconscious and moving away. Now? Now she actually had sympathy for law enforcement, having worked by their side. She knew how hard it was to be the killjoys, to hold a greater set of morals as one’s own. Cain had taught her crime was alright as long as it served her, Batman had shown her the world was better than that.

She was finding her own path, yes, but that didn’t mean she would discard her past. She was proud of what she had achieved under the Bat.

She was sat at a desk in the station, where she waited for a few minutes, pondering the pros and cons of vanishing.

A woman in a suit sat in front of her before she could come to a conclusion, followed by the policeman who had caught her. Cassandra had heard her walk in before she had seen her, and the sounds of her heels on the floor had told her exactly what to expect from the woman: a warrior. Not a physical one perhaps, but her powerful gaze and long neck spoke of someone facing a rhino and challenging it to take her down.

She was older, perhaps soon to be fifty, but she glowed with energy.

“Detective Leung,” she said out of habit rather than as an introduction. She wanted formalities to be done with quickly. “We have questions for you.”

They were being careful not to rough handle her. They wouldn’t Cassandra realised, not as long as they couldn’t verify her age.

Cassandra nodded.

The detective slid a few pictures towards her. All young girls, her heigh, her weight, wearing the same uniform.

“Have you seen any of these girls?” She asked.

“No,” Cassandra replied, staring intently at them. She ran through the usual procedures for that kind of evidence, or rather, what she remembered of it. They all had the same body type but different faces. One of them wasn’t conventionally pretty. The dates on the files were different — not kidnapped together, but targeted individually. This was either the work of a prostitution ring or a pornographic one.

She could see why the rookie had been pressed.

“How long?” She asked.

The detective’s eyebrow raised at her sudden eagerness.

“The first one was taken four days ago, on Monday,” she replied without missing a beat, her eyes focused on Cassandra’s reaction. The vigilante could tell when someone was trying to read her, and the Detective wasn’t trying to hide it. She was assessing, trying to decide what to do with her new chess piece. “Do you know anything?”

“No,” Cassandra answered again.

“Holding back information can be seen as—“ the policeman started.

“Officer Kwan,” the detective chided, shutting him off effectively, “you claim to be borrowing this uniform, but I think we both know that's a lie. Where did you find these clothes?”

Smart. But they were on the wrong the track.

Cassandra could recognise good policemen, and these two fit that category. They knew when to go by the book, and when to prioritise some crime over the other. Cassandra was clearly meant for prison with her lack of papers and stolen clothes, but they were both focusing on the urgent crime here, the kidnapped young girls.

“Where were they last seen?” Cassandra asked.

“That's not—“ The policeman, Kwan, frowned.

“Lan Kwai,” the Detective supplied, looking increasingly curious. In the background Kwan threw his arms in the air, obviously exasperated. Cassandra had a feeling this wasn’t the first time Detective Leung was straying from standard protocol.

“Take me there,” Cassandra told them blankly, “I can help.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Kwan deadpanned.

“Using civilian bait is not authorised,” the detective sighed, not hiding what exactly she thought of that particular rule.

“Not as bait,” Cassandra shook her head, “I can help. I’m a detective.”

The two police officers paused, surprised.

“Watching an episode of Sherlock doesn’t earn you a badge,” the older woman reproached. There was something predatory about the way she said it. Partially as a warning, but mostly as a challenge. She was interested.

“I was taught by the best,” Cassandra assured them.

“Ducard?” Leung guessed.

“ _Better_ ,” Cassandra promised.

“This is ridiculous,” Kwan pointed out, “we don’t have time for this.” He said a few words to his superior in Cantonese, to which she seemed to argue back with ease. There was some sort of battle of the wills going on there, and it was so one sided Cassandra was tempted to offer Kwan tissues to wipe his tears with in the aftermath.

Robin. Leung reminded Cassandra of her Robin.

And Tim was always open for negotiations.

“I help you,” Cassandra suggested, “you let me go.”

“Now she’s just being fishy on purpose,” Kwan grimaced.

“Deal,” Leung accepted, “but only if we close this case before any one else.”

Cassandra shook her hand.

Kwan groaned.

In a moment of weakness, Cassandra handed him the box of tissues.

* * *

It was night time when Cassandra and the two police officers finally headed out. Cassandra had insisted on that, and after making her promise not to play the role of bait, Leung had agreed. As it turned out, Lan Kwai, or Lan Kwai Fong by its full name, was the night life district of Hong Kong. It didn’t make things easier. Finding something out of place where everything was fairly suspicious wasn’t a simple job.

The streets were drowning in young adults having a good time, the dark night blazing alight with vibrant shades of orange, red, and purple lights. It was nowhere near as depraved as Gotham’s nights out could be, but it was denser, and a bit more disorienting.

Kwan kept a grip around her arm to keep her from straying. He was only averagely strong for a man in his profession. But he was aware of his status and responsibilities, and that made him a good cop.

Kwan was still sporting his police uniform, and Cassandra had kept the blue dress on.

She hadn’t lied when she had told them she wasn’t planning on being a bait. She didn’t want to lure the culprits into acting. She wanted to lure them into reacting.

See, Cassandra was no Batman, and no matter how hard she tried, she just wasn’t made for deductive reasoning and forensic science. She couldn’t pinpoint clues or piece them together, and she wasn’t a master of chess and strategy. What made Cassandra a decent detective, was that no one could lie or hide anything from her. She was a mind reader, though not in the traditional sense.

Batman looked at you and could tell if you were guilty. 

Cassandra looked at you and could tell if you _felt_ guilty.

She wasn’t a people person by far; still the superficiality of society escaped her comprehension, but no one understood people more than her.

So when a pair of eyes in the crowd caught onto her uniform, and then Kwan’s, with slight apprehension, Cassandra didn’t hesitate. She was all about instinct, reflexes, and it had never led her askew.

Cassandra pulled at Kwan’s arm to get his attention, and then ducked under the crowd, eyes fixed on the perp. He saw her coming, and started running. First sign of guilt.

Kwan and Leung didn’t navigate the crowd with her skill, and they were lugging behind. She could hear them call for ‘Mrs. Bruce’ and excusing themselves in Cantonese, brandishing their badges for an easy pass, but such thing just didn’t exist. Analysing the flow of a crowd came as a second nature to Cassandra; she had always been made aware of her surroundings. Like a snake, Cassandra slipped between people, shoving some away with care.

The perp was also facing resistance from the sea of people, but he was closer to the shore. Cassandra was going to have to get out of the crowd nearly at the same time as him if she wanted to avoid losing him, and that meant she couldn’t wait for her backup.

He didn’t look strong — he was short and lanky, and a bit old, but he was slippery. Plus, he was bald, and being an American superhero had installed some kind of prejudice against bald people in Cassandra. The man wasn’t Luthor obviously, but Cassandra wasn’t known for being the reasonable Bat.

Cassandra somersaulted over the last few people between freedom and herself, and landed right behind the perp, who had taken a small dark alley to escape. He was looking straight, which meant he knew the layout. She couldn’t afford to lose him.

In a burst of speed, Cassandra rammed against him like a truck, and pinned him against the wall of a T-intersection in front of them. The man let out a small cry and attempted to struggle free, but proved to be no match for her strength.

Out of habit, Cassandra held his arms together behind his back, and forced him on the ground. She briefly frisked him, finding a phone, keys, a wallet, and a pocket knife.

“Where are the girls?” She demanded, coolly, but promising great pain with her tone. The perp wasn’t the brave type, and with so much fear in his voice, he would give the information she wanted fast enou —

The man answered in Chinese.

Of course.

“Freeze!”

Kwan and Leung stumbled into the alley, Kwan pointing a gun at Cass and the perp, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Translate,” Cassandra told him, nudging at the perp.

“Is he hurt?” Kwan asked, looking tense.

“Translate,” Cassandra insisted, “where are the girls?”

Leung immediately directed a string of cantonese at the man, which Cassandra had faith was her question.

The man rushed an answer, but before he could say anything of interest, a bullet tore through his face with a whistle of a sound. Cassandra took a step back, letting the body fall, and turned to where the bullet came from, a few floors overhead. She caught the glint of the firearm, aimed at Kwan and Leung.

Leung had turned to Kwan, both startled and a bit panicked.

“It wasn’t me!” Kwan was defending himself, “I didn’t — _Oof_!”

Cassandra tackled the two police officers to the ground, saving them from two more shots.

“Thank you,” Leung breathed, “you saved — what are you _doing_?”

Cassandra was already jumping from street light to pipe to air-conditioner to window ledges, closing in on the sniper. Clearly, the assassin hadn’t expected anyone to climb up a wall to get to him, and her sudden approach left him little time to pack. Out of pure survival instinct, he decided to abandon his material and run for it. Fortunately, Cassandra was good at what she did, and with surgical precision, she hooked her arm around the sniper’s neck, and dragged him back to the ledge, the shock of having his throat crushed momentarily paralysing him.

She jumped from the fifth floor with him, where they were, using a stray cable to break their fall enough that she could land on her feet.

Back on the ground, two men had approached the police officers, threatening them with guns. They were dressed like hoodlums, but they walked like businessmen. It was a disguise.

Before Cassandra even touched the ground, she sent the pocket knife she had found to impale one of the gangster’s hands, immediately garnering the attention of the second as his colleague cried out in pain. Cassandra dropped her catch on the ground after a quick hit to the back of his head to render him unconscious, and engaged in close quarter combat, dodging a bullet on the way.

She ducked with ease, parried a few hits like they were soap bubbles to pop, and jabbed him once, twice before he fell limp on the ground.

Wandering lost was her home, but this? Investigations, kidnappings, fighting, saving lives? This was her workplace.

Leung and Kwan lowered their guns slightly, staring at her as impressed as they were horrified. Their breath indicated adrenaline was still running high in their veins. Their fingers were still on the triggers, wary now of Cassandra.

“How did you…” Leung stammered, observing the four unconscious bodies with her eyes. She kept a healthy distance with the young vigilante.

“Organised crime,” Cassandra said, “they silenced him. The clean up had backup. Sniper is professional. These two are in disguise. It’s organised.”

Leung’s eyes hardened, “That's impossible.”

“It's true.”

“Detective Leung is right,” Kwan insisted, “this _can’t_ be the work of the Triad. No organised crime in Hong Kong would dare do something this stupid.”

Stupid? Crime was crime. Cassandra wasn’t sure what Kwan thought was smart.

Leung ran a hand through her greying hair. “We can’t report this,” she decided, “not until we know for sure what this is. If the Triad _is_ involved…”

“Keeping this quiet goes against protocol,” Kwan warned her, “the paperwork is going to be a killer when we try to explain why we didn’t flag this immediately. Even if we do close this cleanly. We’ll be handed to internal affairs like steaks to wolves.”

“Wrongly accusing the Triad is worst,” Leung reminded him, “and rightly accusing them means starting a gang war. And maybe breaking our truce. We _need_ to be certain.”

“How do you suggest we do that without applying for a task force, or even for backup?” Kwan hissed, “We're not talking about a rapist or a murderer here. It’s the _Triad_. If they think we’re investigating them—“

“I can do it,” Cassandra told them firmly.

Leung and Kwan shared a look. There was no playful powerplay this time.

“Look, kid,” Leung reasoned, “you _clearly_ have skills, but we _cannot_ ask you to do this.”

“I've done it before,” Cassandra argued, “I'm your best bet.”

“Don’t make us arrest you,” Leung warned. Her eyes screamed ‘stay put’ and Cassandra briefly wondered if she meant for her to stay in their sight, or out of the Triad’s. After all, her show of strength hadn’t cleared her name anymore than it already was.

“We have a deal,” Cassandra reminded them, “the case is not closed. The girls are still out there. They could die.”

Leung blinked in surprise as Cassandra’s vehemency.

“You care about the girls,” she realised. Cassandra nodded. “You _really_ care about them. I thought you were just a delinquent kid looking to get out of trouble.”

“I'm not police,” Cassandra said, “I can get caught without… incriminating you, but I won’t. I’m good.”

“You can’t be considering it,” Kwan scoffed at his superior in disbelief, “she's just a kid. We don’t even know anything about her.”

“A kid who just took out a professional hitman, a runner, and two gangsters _single handedly_ ,” Leung shot back, “a kid who just _saved the lives_ of two police officers. We can use her.”

“Is that yes?” Cassandra asked for confirmation.

“It's a ‘let's discuss this somewhere more private’,” Leung corrected her, pulling out her radio, “I'll get some boys to lock these perps up and bring a body bag, meet me back in my car.” She tossed her keys at Kwan.

Kwan and Cassandra made their way back to her car in silence. It was clear the young man was put off by Cassandra’s display. If he didn’t trust her before, he trusted her less now. She recognised those sideways glances well, it had taken a long time for her Robin to get over them. Nightwing still hadn’t. She made people uneasy, and she was comfortable with that.

Kwan opened the car, and slid in the backseats with Cassandra, sitting as far from her as possible.

They sat without a word for a few minutes.

Then, Cassandra noticed a white box under the seat in front of her. A first-aid box.

Without warning, she took off her dress.

“Hey!” Kwan complained, covering his eyes, “What the hell are you doing? Put that back on!”

Cassandra slid the box out and opened it, finding all she had hoped to find in there. She took out the disinfectant and a cotton swipe, and tended to the bullet wound on her shoulder, the one she had gotten shielding the police officers.

Kwan swore in cantonese, and Cassandra knew that he had finally caught sight of the blood, and followed it up to her shoulder. His eyes then widened at the sight if the mosaic of scars littered across her body.

“You're hurt."

“Shhh,” Cassandra told him. She needed to focus. She picked up a pair of pliers, and started digging the bullet out. She had done it countless times, but it was still a delicate operation if she wanted to minimise lasting damage. With the hole at the back of her shoulder, she needed to be all the more careful.

Kwan must have known he was out of his depth, for he let her work, keeping his freaking out to himself. It was a cute effort, but Cassandra could still feel his anxiety.

Cassandra dropped the bullet into the box, and moved on to stitching. She had managed to catch the bullet at a good angle, so it wouldn’t hinder her mobility too much. It was slightly harder to stitch, but it had advantages on the long run.

The young woman had to give Kwan credit. He wasn’t looking away from the gruesome operation, even though he was starting to look a bit sick.

“You can wait outside,” she told him.

“Is there _anything_ I can do to help?” He provided instead.

“No.”

And so the silence resumed.

The stitching went on for a few minutes, until the front door of the car opened and Leung slid in.

“What sort of indecent—“ she started, “ _Oh_.”

“She's hurt,” Kwan told her urgently.

“No hospital,” Cassandra warned.

“This isn’t up for debate!” Leung hissed, starting the car, “That's a _bullet wound_!"

“I've had worse,” Cassandra insisted.

Leung paused, looking over at the marks on Cassandra’s skin. “That,” she said, reluctantly, “I believe.”

“No hospital.”

“She seems to know what she’s doing,” Kwan pointed out.

“I've done it before,” Cassandra shrugged, “if you bring me to a hospital, I will be arrested."

“I - _ugh_!” Leung groaned, “Fine! Where do you live?”

“I don’t…” Cassandra started trying to find the right way to phrase her situation. Her hesitation seemed to get the message across.

“Where have you been sleeping these past days?” Leung changed her question.

“Haven’t yet."

“Haven’t…?” Leung repeated.

“You're familiar with organised crime, but not the Triads. How long have you been living in Hong Kong?” Kwan asked, understanding dawning upon him.

Cassandra looked at the time indicated by the car.

“Ten hours.”

Both Leung and Kwan groaned.

“First the Triads, now the kid we picked up is some kind of stray ninja tourist who can take a bullet without blinking,” Leung grumbled, “this is not my day.”

“Ten hours in Hong Kong and you’ve already been arrested and successfully picked a fight with the mob,” Kwan resumed, somewhere between awe and shock, “what the hell _are_ you?”

“Cass.”

“Huh?”

“My name,” Cassandra simply explained, “Cass.”

“Oh, er, I’m Kevin,” Kwan replied out of politeness. He didn’t seem at ease about what to do when a mysterious, enigmatic starnger just straight out gave their names.

“Liling,” Leung introduced herself as well, “I'm taking you to Kwan’s place. I’ll call a doctor friend of mine to look over your shoulder. We’ll discuss things tomorrow, _after_ you rest."

Her tone left no space for arguing. At least, none form Cassandra’s point of view. The girl shrugged and resumed stitching.

“Do _I_ get a say in this?” Kevin asked, without much hope.


	3. Rules and Regulations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cass and Leung are not the only detectives on this case.

The sun had barely risen when Jason got on the job.

The bullet had gone straight between his eyes. Jason knew, because he’d seen the body at the morgue earlier. He could have guessed it of course, considering the culprit was a professional hitman. Still it was good to confirm a few things: he’d been in shape, and precise as always. Yet, two bullet holes still mocked him from the ground of that narrow alley. He’d missed — and that was suspicious in itself. Had he panicked? Unlikely.

Jason studied the blood splatter and the bullet holes, and retraced their trajectory. They had come from one of the buildings towering the alley, around maybe the fifth or sixth floor.

The young man took a few steps back, before throwing himself at the building, grabbing the highest pipe he could reach, and pulling himself up. He moved to continued scaling the building when he noticed a handprint atop one of the air conditioners sticking out from the wall. It wasn’t so much a print as it was a hand-shaped area clear of dust, but either ways, the clue was the same. It was fresh. Jason wasn’t the first to forgo stairs.

Looking closely, he could see it now. A slightly yanked cable, an indented pipe, stamped balcony flowers. The path was clear.

Now, Jason was fairly confident in his abilities. If he could escape Batman himself running on rooftops, then he had good reason to be. Still, never in a million years would he have attempted that path, because as confident as he was, Jason had always been taught to learn his limits. And this level a parkour? It was _way_ past. There were only a handful of people he knew who could pull off that kind of inhuman stunt. Grayson. Lady Shiva. Batman, probably. Deathstroke. A few League of Assassin ninjas.

None of them were police officers or second tier hitmen. And yet, according to the police report, that was all who were present that night. The report had holes, and someone was hiding something — but which side? Jason had been suspecting his men of dishonesty for a while now, but present proof incriminated the officers of the law instead.

He’d been assured the killing of the bald man had been over a matter of debt. Nevertheless, criminals’ words had little weight, and Jason didn’t believe in coincidence. The police had been tracking the bald man, and yet their reports claimed it had been pure luck; right place, right time. Police didn’t get involved in personal debts. It felt like both sides were playing him.

Jason landed back on the ground silently, out of habit.

He was going to have to look deeper into this. Incidents like these were often misunderstandings, but when they weren’t, they blew up big time. Besides, Jason glanced back at the building, this unknown player was worrisome.

When Jason had first come to Hong Kong, only a few months after his Lazarus dip, he’d kicked up a storm in the underground. He had taken down entire families to have access to their resources, all without realising that this city was nothing like Gotham. His instructor at the time had stopped him, bless him, but were not for that little guidance, Jason would without a doubt have brought Hong Kong to its knees. He had stopped fighting the Triad now, and even controlled part of it. But this new player?

They had a lot of potential skill, but he wasn’t sure they knew how to operate here. Taking mobsters down like that… It was too open, too flashy, and it could easily offend the Triad. It was either the move of a tourist, or that of an Anarchist.

Crime and law in Hong Kong had rules.

Jason took off on his motorcycle, his next destination clear. His next visit wasn’t going to be pleasant, but it had to be done. Besides, his own men had some explaining to do as well.

Jason parked not far from the police station.

He walked in casually. He didn’t need an army of bodyguards or a particularly expensive suit to stand out. He wasn’t Chinese, was wearing a red domino, and he was a head taller than the tallest officer on the force here. 

As soon as the doors shut behind him, the volume of the station dimmed, leaving only a few straggling conversation which were clearly muffled soon after. Everyone’s eyes were on him, and a few whispers slithered. _The American_ , they called him.

Jason made no move to engage anyone. An administrative lackey scuttled away, and came back with her superior, a buff fifty year old man with a stern gaze.

“Deputy Commissioner Wang,” Jason greeted in perfect Cantonese.

“American,” the Deputy Commissioner growled back. He didn’t like Jason much, which was understandable considering Jason was part of the Triad. He had the guts not to hide his distrust though, and it was a nice break from all the small time crooks kissing Jason’s ass like it was Jesus’s foot.

The tension was almost solid.

“Get back to work!” The Deputy Commissioner barked, starling the station back into activity. The flustered officers did their best to look focused on their tasks, but Jason still caught a glance or two his way.

The older man gestured for Jason to follow him to his office.

“What do you want?” He demanded with no little dislike as Jason took the seat in front of him.

“The men you arrested yesterday work under me,” Jason told him, “I want them released.”

Wang paused, the information clearly new to him. Jason could see the man sharpen his focus. Wang was a smart man, he knew what it meant.

“They nearly killed two of my men,” Wang narrowed his eyes in warning.

“Which is why I won’t hold a grudge for this arrest,” Jason bargained, openly showing he was just as aggravated by that fact, “release them in my custody, and the whole incident gets swiped under the rug. We can call it a minor misunderstanding. You won’t get a more generous offer from any of my… colleagues.” 

Wang mulled it over, all while staring at Jason straight in the eyes. He was clearly frustrated by this turn of events.

“You have a deal,” he finally decided, allowing reason to win, “I won’t hand this case to the OCTB. But keep your dogs in check, American. If I see them again, I won’t let them go twice. The Treaty goes both ways, young man. You and your friends would do well to remember that.”

Jason smiled, “Thank you Deputy Commissioner, I knew you were an intelligent man. May I ask who made the arrest?”

Wang slid a file out of his pile, opened it, and sighed, “… Detective Leung.”

Ah. This was getting interesting. Jason had studied a lot of personnel files from the Police force, but few had struck him as much as Detective Liling Leung’s. The woman had a heavy history of insubordination, and an arrest record that was worth framing in gold. She was someone Jason could respect, and someone who was both ambitious and just at once. 

There was no doubt the Deputy Commissioner was now realising she had tempered with the truth in her record, but he was a smart man, so he was going to turn a blind eye to that. He knew Leung’s actions would get results. That was how Hong Kong operated.

The sniper and the two henchmen were released to Jason later that day. Normally, Jason would have sent someone else to retrieve them, but this time, he wanted to do it personally. 

The hitman and the mobsters paled upon seeing him wait for them at the station. Arms crossed and expression neutral. They all blabbered humbled words and licked his shoes with praise, but Jason wasn’t budging.

“Follow me,” he said cooly.

The three men were all too eager to prove themselves loyal.

He brought them to the underground parking of the Police station, where a few officers were chatting. Jason glared at them and they scattered away.

“We’re so sorry, boss,” the first henchman, a small athletic type, whimpered.

“We didn’t mean to get caught,” the other, taller, lankier, added.

“What I want to fucking know,” Jason demanded, “is what the hell you were doing in that alley in the first place.”

“Gwong Hoi owed us money,” the second henchman explained, “we were just going to ruffle him up a bit, but the police arrived and we panicked.”

“You didn’t need a trained sniper to threaten him,” Jason hissed, turning to said sniper, “what were your orders?”

“I’m a professional,” the sniper frowned, “client information is—“

Jason grabbed the collar of the second henchman, and slammed him on the ground. The man let out a pained cry. Jason glared back at the sniper, promising a similar fate if he didn’t answer.

“What. Were. Your. Fucking. Orders?”

“Kill Gwong Hoi if he talked!” The sniper rushed, taking steps away from Jason.

“Who paid you?”

“I can’t—“

“ _Who?_ ”

“Madame Cheon!”

Of course. That snake. Madame Cheon owned a secret gambling ring for the rich elite of Hong Kong, and the woman just never had enough money. Her greed for new businesses was insatiable, and while Jason had never been able to catch her red handed, he knew she defied his orders at the first opportunity. Like many, she didn’t like the idea of being bossed around by a _gweilo_ , and someone younger than her on top of it all.

Jason looked down at the man still struggling under his palm. A single hand was enough to keep him pinned down.

“Talk,” he ordered.

“I don’t know anything, I swear!” The man whimpered, “I was told he owed us money!”

“Are you sticking to that story?” Jason reaffirmed.

The man looked sideways, a clear sign of lying. “Y-Yes.”

“Then I don’t need you further,” Jason dismissed.

“Wait, _wai_ —“

 _Crunch_.

The man stopped struggling, limp. A trail of blood leaked from where Jason had punched his nose into his brains, not that he had much of those.

Jason turned to the other mobster.

“I trust you will prove yourself more useful?”

A movement caught Jason’s eye. The sniper was trying to escape.

With speed that would make the Flash proud, Jason wiped out his gun and silencer and shot the man’s knee, preventing him from going any further. The sniper went down with a shout, clutching his knee.

Jason turned back to the remaining man.

“So?”

The man looked absolutely terrified. Good.

“Madame Cheon has been gathering high school girls!” the man admitted with no small amount of fear, “Gwong Hoi was the one who spotted them! We were keeping an eye on him in case he needed to be silenced!”

Jason felt his blood turn cold. His vision suddenly narrowed — and his surroundings disappeared. It was only him and the pathetic excuse of a human in front of him, and God did he want that rat to suffer. He wanted to him sweat, to see him bleed. He enjoyed making him flinch, but it wasn’t enough. Jason was suddenly thirsty for cries. He had this vermin’s life in his hand, and there was nothing stopping him from making him beg for Hell. He deserved it.

“Civilians?” Jason asked, carefully controlling the rage in his breath, “You kidnapped civilians? _Kids_?”

“Madame Cheon made us do it!” the man begged, “Please don’t hurt me!”

Hurt him? That piece of trash was going to wish hurt him was all Jason was going to do.

Jason grabbed his face, and pushed him against a police car. The man’s breath caught. He was practically spasming in fear, and Jason could almost feel his heartbeat racing. He liked that sound. It meant his victim was still alive, and that he could still feel pain.

“Please…”

“I could kill you,” Jason whispered in his ear, “but I have an idea. I will make sure you suffer everything these girls have gone through because of you. _Everything_.”

The man whimpered satisfactorily.

“And then I’m going to hunt you down again,” Jason continued, “and I’m going to slice of your fingers one by one and—“

Jason caught his reflection in the rear view mirror. 

He was smiling. A shark like grin, a predatory smirk. He was feeling elated, free. He was actually enjoying this sadistic torture, and any question of morality had long escaped him.

He looked like a monster.

Jason slammed the man against the car a second time, this time ensuring he pass out and crumple at his feet. He kept his eyes on the mirror, his fingers tracing the contour of his domino mask. He was slightly scared of removing it now.

Maybe it was because he knew.

Jason peeled one side off warily, and was met with his eye. His green eye. Lazarus green.

 _Shit_.

He hastily placed his domino back over both eyes, as if hiding it would make it go away, and took out his phone.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said, “there are three unconscious bodies in the parking of the location I’m sending. Dispose of them. _Permanently_.”

He hung up.

Madame Cheon was breaking the Treaty between the Triads and the Police force. Jason was going to have to deal with her before her actions broke the balance. He was going to have to be smart about it though, the woman had resources, and Jason had a feeling it was going to be near impossible to gather evidence on her actions. He had a higher standing than her in the Triads, but she was so much more popular among their colleagues. Killing her without proof of her crimes was risking everyone else going after him.

* * *

Cassandra woke up the second her body registered the presence of an unknown person in the room. She could tell she had had a full night’s sleep, the first ever since she had boarded that cargo boat in Gotham, and that it was what regular people called an early morning. She didn’t open her eyes straight away, or even make a move. She even kept her breathing as alike to a sleep pattern as she could. It was always best to give an opponent as little information as possible, even if it was just her state of consciousness.

Music started playing, echoing against the small apartment’s walls. It was very unlike those ‘sick tunes’ Superboy listened to. It felt more like a movie soundtrack, from a scene where protagonists discovered a long lost temple or something of the kind. It was slow, without a single word, and sounded like a prolonged hum. The relaxing melody was one to fit well with bird chirps, the wind rustling leaves, and the sun slowly rising in the distance.

Cassandra listened to the soft sound of the newcomer’s steps. They had settled right behind the sofa where Cass was sleeping, and didn’t seem to have noticed her yet. They weren’t wandering from their spot, but they were moving. Slowly, calmly, delicately.

Without betraying her presence, Cassandra rose just enough for her eyes to peek over the couch.

There was an old lady there, back turned to her. She was wearing a commercial T-shirt and unicoloured pastel pink pants, as well as some blue slippers. Her grey hair was short and artificially curled over her skull. The music was playing from a radio on the dinner table, and she was… dancing?

It was strange. Her movements looked like martial arts, but it was none Cassandra had ever been taught before, and she’d been instructed in every art that could win a fight. But this was much too slow to be efficient, and the movements much too soft. Perhaps it was some kind of stretch?

It was strangely soothing though, and Cassandra found it flowed magically well. Simple, but meditative. 

She had watched the old lady for ten minutes when the music stopped.

The old lady twisted her back one last time, and spotted Cass doing so. She paused. Untwisted her back. Turned around. Took a step towards Cass. And squinted her already narrow eyes.

Then she barked something in Cantonese.

Cassandra blinked and waited for her to finish, before asking politely, “English?”

The grumpy old lady clicked her tongue, and muttered a few words, still in Cantonese. She reminded Cassandra of a less polite version of Alfred when Batman or Tim found a shortcut through traditional practices, like that time where Tim had decided to skateboard down the railings instead of taking the stairs.

Tim had regretted that action dearly, but Batman had assured him that failure was as much of a valuable result as success when it came to science. Alfred had been mildly amused.

It seemed the old lady was lecturing her.

Kevin burst out of his room, in a plain shirt and boxers, to save Cassandra.

She had spent the night at Kevin’s apartment, after getting shot. It was a very small apartment, but it was large enough for its two inhabitants, and even left a bit of breathing space. Every surface was filled with small trinkets though, that didn’t necessarily match. Little figurines, picture frames, teacups, CDs, thrift shop acquisitions… It was so very different from the Mansion, where every item’s presence and place had been meticulously calculated by either Batman or Alfred. Here, it was like whatever landed into their hands, from precious gifts to promotional gags, made it on a shelf.

Kevin greeted the old lady and gave her a few words before turning to Cass.

“Sorry… Cass,” he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with using a nickname for her, but it was all he knew of her name, “I forgot that my mother started her morning exercise at six, I should have warned you.”

Mother? He seemed way too young to be her son. Grandson, she could see.

“It's alright,” Cass reassured him.

“It didn’t wake you up?”

“No. What is it called?”

Kevin blinked in surprise, “You mean, the Qi Gong?” He asked, answering at the same time, “I thought it had spread to the West in general… where I’m assuming you’re from.”

Cass nodded to confirm. “But I am not in touch with… popular culture.”

Kevin scratched the back of his head, “Look, I don’t know how long you’re staying here, but if it’s going to be a problem, maybe you should take my room after all.”

“No,” Cassandra shook her head, “I'm used to sleeping in worst places, and I have… overslept this morning. I wake earlier.”

Kevin sighed, “If you’re sure. Just let me explain things to my mom first, she was already sleeping when we got back last night, and I didn’t want to wake her. Here.”

Kevin handed her a polo shirt and khaki sweatpants, which were clearly his mother’s. Cassandra was approximatively the same height as her, if not slightly taller, but half her weight. Still, even if the shirt did hang loose on her frame, the sweatpants had an adjustable elastic and met their purpose. They were surprisingly light and easy to move in.

The clothes smelled like lavender.

Kevin and his mother were still discussing things when Cassandra was done slipping on the clothes. She waited patiently as the old lady reprimanded her sons for things which seemed to have nothing to do with the conversation at hand.

The bell rung.

Out of habit, Cassandra slid out of view.

It was Detective Leung, all freshened up, and already sharply dressed in a suit. She smiled, greeted the old lady with both respect and friendship, greeted Kevin with a teasing smirk, and searched the room for Cass.

The old lady looked delighted to see the Detective. She steered her towards the dining table, as Kevin, in defeat, motioned for Cass to do the same. The old lady disappeared into the kitchen while Kevin started setting the table for breakfast.

“So,” the Detective started, “how's the shoulder?”

“Fine.”

“Great, now business. Who are you? It was easier to trust you when I thought you were just a young delinquent or a run away, but clearly your skills tell me that you’re nothing so mundane,” she questioned, seriously, “I don’t think your intentions are bad, but I need to know you’re not a hired gun or a nut case.”

“You took her to _my home_ when you had these kinds of questions in your head?” Kevin gaped in disbelief.

“Well, I wasn’t going to bring her to _mine_ ,” the Detective dismissed, as if her answer was perfectly reasonable. 

“I don’t kill,” Cassandra told them with conviction, looking the Detective straight in the eyes.

The older woman took the time to assess her words, meeting her gaze in challenge. “Alright…” she finally announced, less certain and more let’s-try-and-see, “I’ll believe you. Where did you learn to fight?”

“My father. A bit, my mother.”

“Family business, then?” the Detective guessed.

“No,” Cassandra renounced, with more venom than she had intended, “ _never_. I’m a detective,” she repeated, “I learnt to fight from them, I learnt what to fight for from my… my detective teacher.”

“You mentioned him before,” the Detective remembered, “better than Ducard?”

“Ducard taught him,” Cassandra nodded, “but I won’t give his name. I want… time to be me. Not his student. Not his soldier. This is why I came here. To start over.”

Kevin sighed, frustrated, “You have got to give us _something_ ,” he told her, “because if someone else was on your case, you’d already be shipped off to jail. You are the most suspicious person I’ve ever met, and my job is literally to catch bad guys. If you weren’t so blunt and so focused on the kidnapped girls’ case, even Detective Leung would be putting you behind bars.”

“Officer Kwan is right,” Kevin was startled by that admission, “we can’t give you a free pass on every question. You said your teacher had given you a reason to fight, what are you fighting for?” The Detective asked.

The question was heavier than they’d imagined. Batman had once asked if she was more loyal to him or Oracle, and Cassandra had pointed to the symbol on their chest. His question had been invalid, because both were fighting under the same banner, and it was that very same banner that Cassandra was pledging her life to.

But to respect the symbol's values and to wear it were two different things.

“Justice,” Cassandra replied earnestly, “people. Life.”

“People are usually too embarrassed to say that kind of thing,” Kevin pointed out.

“Not in my circle,” Cass replied, “I fight crime, at night. My parents taught me to hurt, but I chose to help. I _want_ to help. My past does not… _define_ me. My blood does not control me. _I_ do.”

The two police officers were silent; Kevin, unsure of how to react, and Leung, deep in thought.

The old lady came back from the kitchen, completely oblivious to the tension. She dropped an impressive quantity of omelette on all their plates, without asking if they wanted any, and then filled their mugs with tea, all while humming. She then joined them at the table, and gave herself a human ration of breakfast.

The omelette had a strange green tint to it.

The old lady barked something when Cass poked it.

“She’s telling you to eat,” Leung translated, before listening more, “and that young ladies your age shouldn’t sleep in light clothing at strangers’ houses.”

“Okay?” Cass answered, “Can you tell her thank you?”

Kevin did so. His mother started lecturing him on something. Kevin rolled his eyes but suffered through it anyways. He really shouldn’t have brought attention to himself.

Leung seemed to care little for Kevin’s situation.

“You remind me of myself a bit,” Leung admitted to Cass, “not in circumstances quite as extreme as yours. My parents did everything they could to make me a good housewife, and everyone else seemed convinced my genitalia would make it impossible to become a good cop. But you know what? Thirty years later and I became one of the best, partly to prove them wrong.”

“I do not help others to rebel,” Cassandra told her, “my teacher and my… classmates? They showed me kindness. They showed me courage. They showed me purpose.”

“Yes,” Leung agreed, “the route you chose to take is what you truly believe in, the spark of rebellion just makes you drive faster. You say you’re a good apple from a bad tree, so I’ll give you a chance to prove it —“

Leung’s phone rang.

“Excuse me,” she stood up, and left the room.

Cassandra took the opportunity to take a bite out of the omelette.

She wasn’t choosy about food, but it did nearly make her gag.

“It’s seafood omelette,” Kevin told her, having half finished his, “you don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”

Cassandra placed her chopsticks on the plate’s edge.

“So when you say you fight crime…” Kevin fished around, “are you part of that Western vigilante wave? I heard quite a few youngsters died trying to imitate American heroes.”

Most things had both a good and a bad side, and if the growing numbers of superheroes had a bad side, it was that they sometimes led young minds to follow in their footsteps. Some thought that it was now alright for everyone to deliver their own brand of justice, and others saw glory in sacrifice and martyrdom. But like every career, fighting crime was not something passion alone could perfect. There was a lot to learn, especially for those without powers.

And yet everyday, news of another teenager dying trying to stop a mugging with a store-bought mask reached everyone’s screens.

“They were not trained,” Cassandra sighed, “not prepared.”

“And you are?”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, you can obviously fight, which is why it’s so easy to believe your crime-fighting story — that and all those scars of yours,” Kevin amended, “but I’m also in the crime-fighting business, and I’m guessing it takes more than a good right hook to succeed.”

“I was born in this world of heroes and criminals,” Cass informed him, “it is your world I am not prepared for.”

“Certainly explains why you’re so… not normal,” Kevin conceded.

“I’m not,” Cassandra agreed, “I’m not trying to be. I’m a fighter, and I’m good at what I do.”

Leung came back, looking irritated.

“Looks like the kid’s hunch was right,” she said, “the guys we’ve arrested last night? The American is having them released.”

Kevin deflated.

“Looks like this case is closed then,” he muttered.

“When will they be released?” Cassandra asked them.

Leung sat back down, “They’ll rush the paperwork for the American — he’s a top boss of the Hong Kong Triad — so in a few hours, probably. Early afternoon is my guess.”

“We have time,” Cassandra told them, “we can question them before.”

“What? _No!_ ” Kevin immediately stopped her.

“I don’t know how crime-fighting works where you come from,” Leung warned her, “but here, if a Triad boss is involved, you go sniff the other way.”

“Criminals don’t scare me,” Cassandra declared.

“This isn’t a question of courage, Cass,” Kevin insisted, “if they had anything to do with the kidnappings, the American will get them what they deserve… Probably worse. The kidnapped girls will be released.”

“And if not?” Cassandra asked them, “If they killed our suspect for other reasons? If this American doesn’t know? If he is part of it? If they die or disappear, our only lead is gone.”

“Look, if they were involved, I guarantee you the Triad will find out and resolve it amongst themselves. They are criminals, but they are an honourable bunch,” Leung explained patiently, “if not, then there must be a lead outside Triad business that we haven’t found, and that we can follow, _without_ crossing the American’s path.”

“Will he kill them?” Cassandra asked, “If they are guilty?”

Leung and Kevin exchanged a look. It was hesitant, but not about the truth. They weren't sure what to tell her. The answer was obvious.

“Killing is wrong,” Cass insisted, “we cannot let that happen.”

“They probably deserve it,” Kevin shrugged, “if it happened in front of me, I’d stop it, but I’m not going out of my way to save them.”

“Same,” Leung agreed, “we don’t interfere with Triad internal business. They have their own laws and these men knew the price they would pay going in. I can see you’re used to working with different philosophies, kid, but things just don’t work that way here. Promise us you’ll stay as far away from the American, and the Triad in general, as possible.”

At that point, Tim would probably have said yes and investigated this American anyways. But Cassandra wasn’t Tim. She was an honest person, if only because she had never felt the need for the world to accept her.

“We don’t have and vigilantes of your caliber here,” Leung admitted, “and I truly believe you could do some good. But right now? You know too little about this city, and you’re just going to call attention to yourself. So lay low and—“

“Ahem,” the old lady coughed. She took a sip from her cup, and looked pointedly at theirs. The tea was going cold.

The three crime-fighters took a sip simultaneously.

 


	4. Lost souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra has always been like the weather -- following her will with complete disregard for the cities underneath. It's both her strength and her greatest sin; and it only mixes half well with Jason.

Cassandra never promised Leung anything in the end, and Leung must have realised that on some primal level, Cassandra was incapable of acting anyway differing from her own will. And so the cops and the vigilante danced around the elephant in the room. No one wanted to see Cass arrested, but at the same time, there was no denying that she was both dangerous and rogue, no matter how good willed.

As a vigilante, Cassandra was used to these kind of decisions. Every superhero had to be. They were already all walking the fine line between right and lawful. Every criminal they took pity on, every friends they made from enemies, and every legal fence they broke through had long conditioned them to the dilemmas. However, these choices were not easily made by civilian. Even Detective Leung was uncomfortable with the ward that had been placed in her hands by happenstance, and she was clearly not the type to take law for a holy text. Could she risk letting Cassandra loose? Could she live with herself putting her in jail?

And because Leung didn’t have the arrogance to think in absolutes, she didn’t have the confidence either. It was a form of courage and strength to bet everything on one's beliefs, and the people who lost that gamble ended in the Phantom Zone, or worse. No one could be blame for not risking it. Where Batman and Poison Ivy believed their notions of right were universal, Leung accepted that she was one woman among seven billion. 

So when Kwan and Leung decided to take a few days before deciding what to do with her, Cassandra understood. They gave her leeway, because it was like taking their hands off the responsibility. Keeping her from working on the case meant forgoing the use of her obvious skills, and thus endangering the girls’ lives. Letting her in on the job meant facing the legal, and possibly catastrophic consequences of letting a rogue agent do their job, a rogue agent who wasn’t in tune with how Hong Kong functioned.

She stayed at Kevin’s house during that time, but it was a very broad way of saying things. Whatever time she could spend on the streets she did. She made him uncomfortable, and in turn his mother weirded her out, so all was fair. Sometimes the police officer tried to strike a conversation with her, but clearly Cassandra was lacking a bit in the social department, and even she could tell her responses were not the expected ones. They eventually settled on silence.

It was on her fourth day where things finally took a plunge.

She’d been scouring Lan Kwai Fong at night and getting a feel of the kind of people who worked in the shadows. It didn’t take her an hour to notice that she was far from the only one sniffing around. The Triad was on a Manhunt for anyone involved in the kidnappings. It was a pity she could not understand Cantonese, because they weren’t exactly whispering.

What changed on the fourth day was that one of the mobster she had beaten up had a recording device, and that meant Cassandra could get information — after sneaking around a bit eavesdrop on another incriminating conersation.

“It says they already know who ringleader is,” Kwan had translated when she’d given him the tape a late afternoon, “they're just looking to round up her associates before confronting her. And that — we need to get this recording to the station — no. We need to destroy this. How did you — This is… This is evidence against Madame Cheon. It just — It _had_ to be her. This is bad, Cass. Really bad. I’ll tell Detective Leung, you stay right here. You’ve done your part. Don’t move, I’m serious.”

Obviously, she moved. There was no time to sit around. There were girls out there who needed to be found. Besides, having a name was enough.

Dressed in khaki sweatpants, a too large beige tank top, and a purple scarf around her neck and mouth, Cassandra took the streets of Hong Kong once more, punching through informants as the day died and night fell. A lot of people knew English, though sometimes rudimentary, and Cassandra could scare what she needed out of them, now that she had a name to carry out her interrogations on.

Within two hours, she was at Madame Cheon’s penthouse, hiding behind a tall plant and a cupboard. It was a nice apartment, mostly minimalistic black and white, with a splash of vibrant colour every now and there. Some of the furniture had a Japanese touch to them, but nothing too traditional. The security had been as good as it could be with large windows for walls that gave an impressive view on Hong Kong, but good had never been enough to stop Cassandra. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one able to bypass the security, clearly.

A few minutes later, and it would have been too late.

A woman dressed in a purple qipao with a white furry scarf was cowering in her own living room. She was old enough to be a grandmother, but not by much. Maybe in her early fifties? Her heels and heavy makeup showed she had enough energy and health not to be treated as a senior citizen. There was a broken and spilled glass of wine between her and her nine assailants, and her fear was on par with that of anyone who had never met an obstacle in life. Eight men and women had their guns pointed at her, all of them in casual clothes. They were paid muscle.

The youngest one in the room was also the only westerner. He had black hair that curled at its ends, with a curious dash of white in front, and a red domino mask, round at its edges.

He was a tall man, almost as tall as Cassandra remembered Batman to be. And he was bulky, but not as bulky as he seemed. Yes, she could see it, even under the creases and drapes. The man wore simple clothes, somewhere between business and laid back. He had a cheap suit jacket, a white shirt, and black slacks, but he was not fooling her. She could see he had armour under the shirt, that there was a weapon-filled belt under his vest. She could see the knife strapped at his ankle, and the gun under his arm.

Most of all, she could see the fear in the people around him. That man held the power in this room, and he was armed to the teeth. It wasn’t hard to tell that he wasn’t just for show.

The American. 

The American withdrew his gun, and pointed it at the purple lady. She whimpered, taking a futile step back.

Cassandra jumped out from behind the plant, and took out the two nearest henchmen in a sweep. She didn’t leave the others enough time to react. Amongst cries of surprise and rogue gunshots, Cassandra did a quick job at breaking wrists and knocking some unconscious. She wanted them harmless, whether that meant passed out or temporarily paralysed depended on each of their luck.

In seconds flat, she had disarmed and incapacitated all the henchmen. Neither the purple woman nor the American had moved during the altercation, one out of fear, and the other out of experience. His immobility had been the reason Cassandra hadn’t gone for him. He wasn’t posing a threat, yet. He was assessing her, and he was impressed at what he was seeing.

The woman’s knees gave, and her hands were wandering eerily close to Cassandra. Her emotional string of Cantonese meant nothing to the young vigilante, but the girl could recognise relief and gratefulness where it was. She could also recognised exaggerated wetworks. The purple lady was trying to appeal to her seemingly big heart, assuming that looking like the victim would grant her Cassandra’s protection.

But Cassandra was far from dumb. It wasn’t a coincidence that she was on the American’s hit list. She was the trafficker.

The men with the red mask demanded something, also in Cantonese.

And the woman whined again.

Enough was enough, and Cassandra swirled around to punch the woman unconscious — she didn’t like her type. Then, she turned back to the startled American.

“English?” She asked, annoyed.

The man blinked. “Sorry, I assumed — Fuck that was so racist of me,” he conceded, “I was asking you if you worked for her, but I guess that answers that.”

“The girls,” she demanded.

“Safe,” the man replied, without needing context. They thought alike. Curious. “I’ve asked some women who work for me to drop them off at the nearest Police station.”

He was being truthful. Leung and Kwan had been right; he was an honourable man.

“Good,” Cassandra approved. Considerate as well, to send women instead of men.

Cassandra grabbed the rope she had brought with her and knelt next to the woman to tie her up.

“What are you doing?” the American asked, tension rising his stance.

“Arresting,” Cassandra simply replied.

The man’s lenses narrowed, “It's _you_ ,” he realised, “ _you're_ the one who caught my men in that alley in Lan Kwai. You work for the police?”

“No.”

“Then who — doesn’t matter, you’re not taking that bitch,” the man told her sternly, aiming at Cassandra with his gun, “she broke our laws and she will be judged by our standards.”

“No.”

“Look kid,” the American tried to reason, “you seem like you’re trying to do good, which is fucking great, but things don’t work like that around here.”

“Don't care. No killing.”

“I didn’t come all the way here from Gotham to hear that kind of bullshit,” the American grimaced.

Cassandra froze. Slowly, she turned to the man, reassessing him. Gotham? He fought too well to be a nameless enemy of Batman, and if he was an ally, she’d probably — oh wait. She could see it now. The red domino, the way he held his gun tightly with not just his wrist but his whole arm, almost as if he was expecting to swing from it.

Habits died hard.

Clearly, the American was coming to his own conclusions too, especially considering her obvious reaction to the name Gotham. She wasn’t exactly a low profile, and if Jason Todd’s criminal network extended as far as Batman suspected it did, then there was no way he hadn’t heard of the girl Deathstroke had drugged into taking over the League of Assassins.

They stared at each other, in a standstill. Jason Todd’s still conscious men were getting slightly confused.

“Red Hood,” Cassandra greeted cautiously, a bit, well, in disbelief. What were the chances? She had literally boarded at random a boat that could have led to anywhere.

“Oh for the love of—“ He cursed, “Really? _Really_? Are you fucking kidding me?”

It was… strange. They didn’t really have any history between them, but they were both in the same line of work. They weren’t police, and they weren’t Triad. They saw the same side of the world, that side that Detective Leung, Officer Kwan, and all of the American’s henchmen could not begin to comprehend.

Both Jason Todd and Cassandra Cain were obscure enigmas in Hong Kong, but they knew about each other, and it felt like they were sharing a secret. They could strip themselves of symbols, codenames and colours, all they wanted. They could pretend to blend into this worlds of cops and crime; it didn’t change what they were, and a lost soul had no trouble recognising its kin.

“You fell,” Cassandra pointed out, “Nightwing thought you died. Again.”

“We are so not doing this now,” Red Hood growled, “let my perp go, and go back to Gotham.”

Right. The perp.

“You're going to kill her,” Cassandra disapproved.

“I don’t know you, and I’m not looking for a fucking fight,” Red Hood insisted, getting agitated. His gun was still on her. “I did as you wanted. I got out of your collective Bat-hair. But if you lot insist on hunting me down to the end of Earth, well you can tell the Dickhead that I shot his brat before and that I won’t hesitate to shoot another one! Hong Kong is _my_ turf and he has no fucking right to send his sidekicks like—“

“Okay,” Cass nodded, and she went back to knotting.

“I wasn’t finished! Wait — what?”

“I won’t tell him you’re here,” Cass shrugged.

“He… doesn’t know?”

“ _I_ didn’t know.”

“Well what the fuck are you doing here then?”

“Same as you. New life."

“Oh no. You’re not moving to Hong Kong.”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes at him. No one told her what to do. Besides, she quite liked it here, with Detective Leung and Officer Kwan. She just _had_ to move here now. Just to prove him wrong.

“Jesus Fuck, I mean it. There are a shit-ton of other cities. Go to Paris. Everyone wants to go to Paris.”

“I don’t want to go to Paris. I want Hong Kong.”

“What are you? Five? I was here first; find your own treehouse dammit.”

“Don’t care,” she stood up, "I’m taking her.”

“The hell you are. I’m warning you, take another step away and I start shooting.”

Cassandra had already lifted the unconscious Madame Cheon on her shoulder like a potato sack. She kept her eyes on the Red Hood, assessing him. He was being serious, on both accounts.

For one, he really was going to shoot. His arm was steadier than most professional gunmen, and even with the lenses she could tell his gaze was locked on her leg. He wasn’t going to give her the chance to run with a bullet in her stomach, like the old Batman was capable of doing. The Red Hood wasn’t playing; he didn’t pull his punches.

Second, he didn’t want to fight her. Yes, he would if he had to, and without hesitation or remorse, but he’d rather not. She was neither a criminal nor a Bat that had ever blocked his way. He had no conflict with her, unless she insisted on taking his prey along. Cassandra wasn’t the issue, it was her cargo. His meaning was clear, if she took another step, then she’d be just like Nightwing or Batman in his eyes, and they’d be enemies from then on. If she let it go, no one got hurt.

Except, of course, Madame Cheon. Who would be dead.

“Can’t,” Cassandra told him solemnly, securing the woman more tightly on her shoulder.

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” he insisted, “ _his_ philosophies won’t work here. Hell, he’s _dead_. Let it go.”

“No.”

_Bang!_

The shot came to neither as a surprise. The Red Hood had warned her, and he’d probably suspected it would end like this the second he'd made the link between the mysterious ninja and Cassandra Cain.

Cassandra gracefully evaded it, careful not to drop her baggage as she did so. The shot landed exactly where her knee had been. 

He was an excellent marksman, which meant she had to be careful. If at any time he could predict where one of her limb was going to end up, he would get the shot in. She had to minimise landings and jumps, and there was very little chance she’d manage to get away with both her and Madame Cheon unscratched without taking him out.

Close quarters it was, then.

To his credit, the Red Hood didn’t startle when Cassandra suddenly propelled herself towards him. He blocked her first punch with his forearm, switching the gun to his other hand in the process, and aimed straight at his real target. Cass ducked just in time to save the woman’s head. It was as she had suspected, Jason Todd was not a man who’d be distracted with a fight, or at least one of this level. She had to keep carrying the woman. The human weight on her shoulders was obstructing a lot moves, but she had fought with worse before.

His hand to hand was good — nowhere near Batman or Black Canary’s, but good enough that Cassandra had to focus. He switched between weapons and fists with ease, and that was the real danger. Besides, there was no telling what was in his utility belt. Going by his history, she didn’t put it past him to carry explosives or toxic fumes.

The Red Hood nearly got a grasp on Madame Cheon’s hair.

Cassandra nearly managed to land a kick at the back of his head.

He was good, but he was very easy to read. The Red Hood fought on the opposite scale from Tim or Stephanie. Cassandra’s friends sometimes over thought their next moves. They were constantly trying to figure out which move was the best, and sometimes had to settle for second or third best when their lack of experience or confidence didn’t provide the right answer. Jason Todd on the other hand, was fighting purely out of reflex, without sparing a single thought. It made him faster, quicker to improvise, to adapt to any change of pace or to unexpected moves, but it made him very predictable for anyone of Cassandra’s caliber, because he was always picking the correct next step.

To him fighting was a tool for precision, for Cassandra it was an art.

He had only landed three hits when Cassandra had finally knocked his gun out of his hand and snatched his belt away.

She dropped Madame Cheon on the ground, threw away the knife on his ankle holster, and gave him a powerful kick in the stomach to distance between him and his target, before charging towards him again. Any other long range weapon would take too much time for him to retrieve, time he did not have with Cassandra going at it relentlessly.

Free from the weight, the fight took a whole new dynamic. The Red Hood was immediately put on the defensive, but he didn’t go down. He blocked every hit going for vulnerable spots, and he didn’t have to worry much about the rest of his body. Cassandra could tell from his carry that he was strong and enduring, which allowed him to wear heavy armour and to take hits without bulging. He was holding his ground like his life depended on it, which was strange considering that out of the two of them, Cassandra certainly wasn’t the one most likely to kill.

Still, he was no match for Cassandra, and they both had known that the second she’d let go of her handicap.

The Red Hood fell hard on the ground, after Cass had elbowed his knees in a sweep, “Shit. They weren’t kidding. You’re a fucking monster.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra smiled.

“I still want you out of Hong Kong.”

“No,” Cassandra turned down, straightening herself, “do I have to break your leg?”

The question wasn’t actually hostile. In fact, it was downright polite and considerate. She could tell the Red Hood understood, because he seemed more frustrated than angry. She was walking out with the target — and she’d break his leg if she had to. But just like he’d given her the chance to walk away, she was giving him the same.

“Don't do this,” he told her, trying to sit up. She had bruised a rib though, and she knew it was making it hard for him to, “You don’t understand what will happen if I don’t kill her.”

Someone coughed.

Cassandra and Jason turned to her. She was one of Jason’s henchmen whom Cass had incapacitated earlier. All the conscious henchmen were staring at Cassandra and Jason in a mix of awe and horror, but not her. She was staring at where Cassandra had dropped Madame Cheon, a now empty space.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jason swore. He barked some Cantonese at his men, clearly asking if anyone had seen anything, but their fight had been a real show, and all the answers came back as guilty apologies.

Bypassing the pain in his ribs, Jason stood up and grabbed Cassandra’s collar. Cassandra was lifted in the air like she was a weightless ragdoll. The movement had been sudden, erratic, and had caught even her by surprise. His whole demeanour had changed actually. Up until that moment, he had carried himself with control and wariness, but this Jason felt more fickle, more prone to gratuitous violence, more single minded.

She… She couldn’t read him. If she moved wrong, he would lash out.

“This is your fault,” he spat, “I should’ve just put a bullet in your head. I —“

The man clenched his teeth, and his whole body screamed rage so loud Cassandra was tempted to close her eyes. She had never seen someone so… angry. And scared. He was terrified. But he let go. He released her mechanically.

“Go away,” he told her, turning his back on her and motioning for his men to pick themselves up and follow him to the elevator, “leave Hong Kong. Don’t you ever _dare_ come back.”

His threat was blank. They both knew she’d beat him in a fight. But the anger behind it was nothing to joke about. Besides, the Red Hood wasn’t all about fair fights. If he’d driven Batman and Nightwing in circles, then Cassandra wasn’t stupid enough to go into a full blown war against him. That didn’t mean she’d bow to him, of course.

Cassandra walked to the window, conceding that there was nothing more she could do there. “I'm staying,” she told him before jumping out into the night.

* * *

Cassandra Cain, Batgirl, the One-Who-is-All.

That name had become legend these past few years, among the right circles. She was talked about either as the next Shiva, or the next Batman, but it didn’t matter either ways. Everyone listened to her stories with awe and respect.

Jason hadn’t expected to ever meet her. He knew Batman was real, yet he had always thought of Cassandra Cain as a myth. She was on the same level as the best of the best, in a whole different league. Jason didn’t think little of his own ability, but Cain stood next to Shiva, Black Canary, Ra’s and Deathstroke. His own fighting skills paled in comparison to hers. Never in a million years had he imagined ever being worthy of becoming her opponent.

Turns out, she was just human, and far from infallible. She _clearly_ had no idea what she was doing. Who did she think she was, barging in on Jason’s business like that? He spent months managing the balance between Triads and law officers, additional months stabilising inside fighting within the Triad, and she thought she could just swoop in and mess everything up? She’d beaten him in front of his men, and caused Madame Cheon to run free. If that woman was allowed to whisper in some if the other bosses’ ears… Cassandra Cain had just sparked a fucking gang war, after Jason had devoted himself to pacifying the field.

Jason breathed in, and out. He lifted the visor of his helmet and peeked at his eyes in the rear view mirror of his bike. It was fading, but they were still lazarus green. Driving around angrily wasn't helping enough. Big surprise.

He remembered holding her by her shirt. She was smaller than her name, and younger than her experiences amounted to. But her eyes had been fearless, earnest. He had seen Bruce in there, and for a second, he had been tempted to move his grip to her neck, and tighten it. Except, he hadn’t found it in him to hate her quite as much. It was the way she spoke — stating facts. Where Bruce tried to convince Jason not to kill, Cassandra simply said the victim would not die. There was something incredibly honest about the way she spoke for only herself and her actions, about the way that she would not try to change anyone, nor would she let anyone change her.

Cassandra Cain was utterly unapologetic.

Their fight hadn’t even been personal. They had been like two hired muscles fighting on opposite sides. And the thing about hired muscles? They couldn’t hate each other for accepting paycheques. It would just be plain hypocrisy.

And if he couldn't find a reason to despise her, than this bottomless rage was the Lazarus Pit talking. He was not a nut case. He wouldn't succumb to it.

He wasn’t going to kill her. That, he was sure of. Or at least, not unless it was the logical, strategical move. Just like he wasn’t wearing the red hood, she hadn’t been wearing the Bat. However Bruce’s death had affected her, she had meant it when she spoke of starting a new life, and who was he to deny her of the exact thing he was so desperately searching for? He could sympathise. He hoped she’d find it eventually, he really did. She seemed like she deserved it. But there was no way he was going to sacrifice a whole island city to her soul searching.

He was going to kick her out of Hong Kong, and prove it to himself that he was in control. She could best him in a physical fight anytime, but her recent involvement showed she was out of her depth from a strategic point of view. Hong Kong was his home terrain, and no Batgirl, current or otherwise, was going to impede on it.

Jason stopped his bike in front of the building where lived one officer Kwan. Leung was too smart to let a suspicious character like Cassandra Cain in her apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in a while, hope this makes up for it!


	5. Better than Batman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The best thing about early hours of the morning is that everyone's too tired to improvise a murder.

Cassandra caught on the window ledge, and pushed herself up. With a hidden lock-pick, she clicked it open, and slid inside without a sound. It was a small building, without much security, and the action had almost become routine to her. The darkness of the night barely phased her in her endeavor. 

Her feet dropped to the floor of the kitchen like cushions on a bed.

There was a bowl of fried rice covered in cellophane left out for her, but it was cold. The dishwasher was already running, and if it weren’t for the light coming from the living room, Cassandra would have guessed its inhabitants were fast asleep.

They weren’t though, which was strange.

Kevin was on patrol duty early in the morning, and his mother was too old to stay up so late. Yet she could unmistakably hear the sound of cutlery, as well as smell the chamomile infusion wafting through the air.

Cautiously, she tiptoed towards the next room.

Peeking in, she saw Kevin sitting at the small circular table. He was scooting as far away from the other side as possible, obviously scared and uncomfortable. Cassandra could pick on all the signs; his sweat, his stiffness, his carefully controlled breath, his hyper aware eyes… His mother didn’t seem to share his concern as she nibbled on some dried mango, but then again, his mother was a strange woman.

Truth be told, Cassandra tensed up a bit herself when she saw Kevin had a guest, and who it was. The guest spotted her immediately.

“I'd say welcome to Hong Kong,” the Red Hood growled, “but I think we both know I’m not too happy with you being here right now, especially after that stupid shit stunt of yours. So let’s get to it: give me one good reason not to kill you right here right now.”

“Try,” Cassandra dared him blandly, crossing her arms.

He wanted to, she could tell, and he was rash, but not that rash. Only hours before Cassandra had already proven herself to be the better fighter. His words were there to set the scene, to make things clear. The others called him untrustworthy, and yet Cassandra found him to be honest, which was so rarely the case with Bats. With Jason Todd at least, you knew where you stood. And right now, she stood on his bad side.

Already heavy with humidity, the air found a way to crush them further with tension. But not for long.

It was a quick question from the old woman that cut atmosphere. Just a few words Cass couldn’t catch. She wasn’t prepared for the reaction.

It was instantaneous. Both the Red Hood and Kevin recoiled in surprise.

“ _Ma!_ ” Kevin cried, horrified, like a child receiving an embarrassing kiss from his parents in front of his friends, only nine thousand times worst.

“What? _No!_ ” The Red Hood denied with disgust.

“What did—“ Cassandra started.

“Nothing!” Kevin replied, “She’s senile. She didn’t – oh god, she didn’t mean it. Please don’t kill her.”

“I’m not going to _kill_ an old woman,” the Red Hood said defensively, “but keep her in check.” Then, he spoke to Kevin’s mother directly in Cantonese, clearly explaining something with little patience.

The elder answered with an unconvinced “Mmh,” and a sip of tea. The Red Hood threw his arms in the air.

Kevin’s mother tapped the back of the chair next to hers to invite Cassandra to sit down. She complied without question.

“We need to talk,” the Red Hood declared, having moved his chair away from the old lady a bit.

Cass gave him a nod.

“First you need to understand your position,” he started, and already Cass knew she wasn’t going to like what followed, “I can’t beat you in a fair fight. But I know who you’re living with now, and I can make _their_ lives Hell and _destroy_ detective Leung’s career with a snap of my fingers. If you really insist on following _his_ rules, then you need to accept that you can’t act unilaterally here.”

Cassandra grimaced but didn’t contradict him.

“If you won’t kill me, then you can’t stop me,” he told her.

And there it was, the perfect summary of their situation. They were in… What was the word Oracle used sometimes?

Stalemate.

They were in stalemate.

The Red Hood couldn’t defeat Cassandra, and Cassandra wouldn’t defeat him. She could slow him down, put him in jail, but so far none of that had kept him from wrecking havoc in Gotham, and there was no reason it would in Hong Kong. How does one stop a man even death couldn’t keep from marching forward?

If he wanted to torture Kevin and Leung, then Cassandra could stick to him twenty four seven and still he’d slip through her fingers, eventually. It could take days, years – he’d spent years training before making his grand return to Gotham for vengeance. Patience was not something he was short on.

“Agreed?” He insisted.

“We’ll see,” she replied. “Hurt them and I will hurt you.”

The Red Hood clenched his fist suddenly, and Cassandra could feel the heat of the fire she was playing with. Fortunately, he was just as stubborn and strong willed as her. Even with his body screaming to jump at her throat, he had reigned in his storm of a temper.

Kevin cautiously watched as Jason Todd forced his fist to relax, as if it were a scorpion crawling up his arm, ready to sting at the slightest of provocations.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he asked her, voice dangerously low.

“Saved a life?” She guessed.

“You started a fucking gang war!”

Oh.

“You—“ Kevin stammered, “You _what!_? We _told_ you to stay _put_!” The police officer pressed his palms on his face, “Dammit Cass!”

It was getting worst. His fear. His stress.

It was her fault. Partly. A gang war? Like… like Stephanie’s? No. She couldn’t trust the Red Hood like that. He was a criminal, a _killer_ , but…

But Cass could read people, and the only difference between Kevin and the Red Hood was that the former didn’t have as much control over his emotions. The vigilante was being honest, and he was just as worried and stressed. Cass had somehow made a mistake, and a bad one. Steph too had thought she had been acting for the best. And for all Cass loved Steph, there was no denying the two played in very different leagues. The comparison was a huge hit to her ego.

Things had been so much easier back in her wandering days. Back when she didn’t even consider the effects of her actions on the world.

She had messed up. Cassandra Cain was good, she knew it, but perhaps it was time she accepted that it didn’t mean she was immune to failure. Perhaps she wasn’t as good as believed herself to be. No one was.

The young woman felt an unfamiliar steer in her heart. It was so different from when she had woken up from her serum induced crimes. Back then, she had felt anger, red, hot, outrage. She had been used, dirtied. But while her body had gone on autopilot, Cassandra herself had not erred. This time however, all that bubbled up was scalding _shame_. There was no Deathstroke to blame for the blood on her hands. Just one Cassandra Cain with a hubris befitting an ambitious fool.

She glanced at Jason Todd. Even Batman made mistakes. She had to remember that. She still had much to learn. She still had to get _better_.

“ _Cass_?” Red Hood hissed, “You gave him your _name_?”

Cassandra shrugged. She tried reaching out to touch Kevin’s shoulder, maybe reassure him? But the man pulled away.

“Do you _know_ each other?” he asked her, a mix of betrayed and terrorized. “No, never mind –“

 _Click_.

Cassandra had seen the handcuffs coming, but she realized it was for the best to allow him to slide them on. It made him regain just a bit of control. Besides, she could break out of them at will.

“I’m sorry Cass but you’re too dangerous,” he tried explaining, white as a ghost. “I need to… I need to… We _told_ you… What were we _thinking_?”

His mother opened her mouth.

“I don’t care!” He snapped at her when she tried saying something, “ _to Hell with table manners_!”

_Slap!_

“You deserved that,” the Red Hood commented, impressed by the old woman’s reactivity.

The police officer just stared at his mother in shock, one hand on his reddening cheek, and his mouth open like a fish. The old woman huffed and poured herself more infusion.

“But…” He whined, “a gang war…”

“Yell at _her_ ,” the crime lord told him, pointing at Cassandra, “and apologize to your mom, you ungrateful child. I’m trying to stop a war here and you’re wasting my time with your family psycho-drama.”

Cassandra was tempted to raise an eyebrow. They both knew who the king of family psycho-drama in the room was.

Kevin stared at the Red hood incredulously. “You’re trying to _what_?”

“Stop the war. Uncuff Cass while you’re at it.”

Clearly, Kevin had a hard time computing orders from a Triad boss. Especially when they were actually pretty good demands. Cass herself was fairly surprised at his latter request.

“I can’t – I told Leung I’d arrest her if she crossed the line.”

The Red Hood sighed impatiently, “Look kid, I know you mean good, but arresting her is pretty useless. For one, she didn’t leave any evidence you can use to keep her behind bars. For two, she got out of your handcuffs herself two seconds ago,” Kevin stared down at the empty cuffs, and then at Cass who had returned to her chair right after Kevin’s mother had calmed him down enough, “and finally,” he took a deep, regretful breath, “I – ugh, I need her help.”

“Her _help_?”

“You don’t need to _repeat_ it,” the Red Hood growled, and Kevin whimpered a bit, “I don’t like it either.” He met Cass’s eyes, “but if we want to stop this war before it gains too much momentum, I could use a monster like her.”

“I don’t work for you,” Cass warned him. Yet even to her, the protest was weak. The Red Hood had the higher grounds, and it irked her. She didn’t regret her decision – saving Madame Cheon was what Batman would have done – but maybe she could have given his words a bit more attention, earlier that night. He had _warned_ her. She needed more tact in her methods.

Psh. _Tact_. It was so much easier to just take down the enemy and be done with it.

“No. No, no, _no_!” Kevin shook his head, “No more vigilante superhero crap! Both of you are criminals! You’re just going to make things worst.”

The Red Hood paused, pulling his thoughts together.

“Officer Kwan, was it? I’ll tell you a thing or two about the current situation,” he explained “Right now, all the Triad bosses are under the impression I’m losing power because _someone_ _half my size_ beat me up in front of my men and I lost my target. Moreover, Madame Cheon, I’m sure you know what she’s capable of, now knows I’m going after her. She’s had a few hours, trust me she’s already turned everyone else against me. It’s not very hard considering none of the old goats like me to start with. Now is the perfect time to take me down, and they will jump on the opportunity. I currently hold about a fifth of the underground authority in Hong Kong. Even if they do manage to win the war – and that would only happen after considerable collateral damage – do _you_ want to know what happens when the four other fifths start fighting over mine?”

So there was where Cass had gone wrong. It wasn’t just about beating up the bad guy; she had to take in account the power vacuum that followed. She had to think about greater evils, and whether taking down a mutual enemy wouldn’t help _them_ rise.

Batman would have considered it.

The Red Hood had.

And Cass hadn’t. People would suffer for it. She would, next time. She would.

“…No,” Kevin agreed.

“Also,” he added, as an afterthought, “it’s not like you can actually stop us or, to be honest, do shit about it.”

“True,” Cass agreed.

“Don’t gang up on me,” Kevin grimaced.

“I’m helping him,” Cassandra decided. Kevin planted his face in his hands.

“And then she’s leaving Hong Kong forever,” The Red Hood added.

“No.” Cass frowned just as Kevin pleaded “ _Please_.”

The girl narrowed her eyes at her host.

“You two realise I can’t just turn a blind eye to this, right?” Kevin asked them, still shaky, “I’m a police officer. I… I _have_ to arrest you.”

He was brave to say that, as terrified of the American as he was. Even the Red Hood seemed to respect as much.

“ _You don’t need to arrest them_ now.” Liling’s voice pitched in, like the little devil on Kevin’s shoulder she truly was. Cass could pinpoint the moment Kevin recognized the voice. He went from apprehensive to absolutely done with everything in record time.

Cass, the Red hood, and Kevin turned to the mobile phone that was sitting in front of Kevin’s mother. It was on speaker. She had heard the whole conversation.

“ _The four of us are going to stop the war_ ,” the detective continued, “ _we’ll deal with arrests and stuff afterwards_.”

“Wait, the _four_ of us?” Kevin and the Red Hood repeated simultaneously.

Cassandra grinned wolfishly, “All four.”

“Why didn’t I study medicine like my dad wanted me to?” Kevin groaned.

“I am _not_ babysitting cops,” the Red Hood growled. It was not up for discussion though. Cassandra would not play loose canon again, sure, but it was as she had said. She wasn’t working _for_ the Red Hood. Forcing him to work with Leung and Kwan was the only way to keep him in line. Without them, it would be almost too easy for the Red Hood to play Cassandra, with how little she knew about the terrain. _Both_ of them needed to be kept in check.

The Red Hood needed her. He had to agree to the terms.

* * *

The night market was packed as usual. The crowd was normal, but it held a different quality than that of salarymen mechanically walking to their work place. The people were less pressed for time, out for entertainment, not business. Daytime was greyer, paler, pastel, almost. The night, however, with all its blinking light signs and the young dressed to have fun – it was vivid, loud, colourful, bright, overwhelming, sensitively _violent_. It was the time where the light pollution matched the air’s and where the humidity and heat were the most suffocating.

The young man weaseled through the stands. No one paid attention to him. Why would they? This was Hong Kong. A child could be crying covered in blood on the pavement and no one would break from their daily routine. Not even the tourists saw anything they didn’t want to. People minded their own business.

He took a narrow staircase indicated by shady signs – first floor a tea shop, second a yoga studio, and third the front office of an ‘entertainment’ business. The young man climbed all the way up.

The secretary immediately let him in in the back office.

It was a small living room, nothing like an office where people actually worked. Unless people were Yakuza and work was gambling. Then it was the perfect spot. The light was dim and orange, the walls dark and bare. There was a set of mismatching armchairs in the middle, and circular coffee tables spread throughout.

Madame Cheon was already there, sipping French wine with the boss. Both were wearing clothes that were worth at list ten times the rent of this place. But that was the whole point. This discreet room was nothing more but a meeting place so beneath them that no one would think to look there. Safe wasn’t where security was the tightest, it was where shadows loomed the furthest.

When the secretary left again, there were just the three of them in the room. Two monarchs of the underground, and an errand boy.

The lady crisped upon his arrival.

“This boy works with the American,” she hissed, “he was at my house tonight!”

“I know your night has been turbulent,” boss Kim said, “but please remain calm. Qian is my spy in the American’s ranks. Surely you didn’t expect me to leave the outsider without supervision? He is young, and he only thinks he knows how things work around here.”

Qian bowed slightly. He could feel Madame Cheon’s eyes ruthlessly assessing him. He didn’t have to hide his fear – it was proper for a man of his rank meeting with people of theirs.

“You called, boss?” He asked.

“Yes,” boss Kim replied, pleased by his obvious submission, “we want everything you’ve gathered on the American.”

Qian gulped. Oh, that did not bode well. It smelled like a war brewing. If Madame Cheon and boss Kim preparing themselves to take down the American – Things were going to get violent and bloody.

“Not just,” Madame Cheon added, “that ninja girl tonight, what does he know about her?”

“I cannot say their exact relationship,” Qian rushed, hyper aware of the sweat on his forehead, “but they seemed to know each other. I do not think they are allied, but they are certainly linked somehow. They were speaking English too fast, I couldn’t get more.”

Madame Cheon seemed pleased. The looks she exchanged with Boss Kim was nothing short of sly.

“Linked you say?”

“Perhaps we will finally be able to shed some light on who the American is,” boss Kim suggested smugly, “if we can get our hands on this girl, she might be able to tell us.”

“Better yet,” Madame Cheon pitched in, “she was fighting him, and _wining_. If we could get her on our side… Boy, I want you to find out everything you can on these two. They are the key to getting control of the city back.”

“Yes m’am,” Qian accepted.

There was something else, but he preferred to retain that bit of information for himself. His real employers, the OCTB, secretly favored the American. They had a duty to oppose any member of the Triad of course, but the American was the main reason why the Triads hadn’t been as hard to handle as before. They were too busy regulating internal tension to try and outsmart the authorities. Besides, it was the American who had pushed the Accords between the Triads and the HKPD in the first place.

So yes, they needed him to stay on his throne, if only to take the punches from the other Triad bosses for them.

Qian’s English was perfect, and the American was from Gotham. Not just that, the masked outlaw knew the American superhero Nightwing, and Qian had little doubts he’d find something on the Red Hood the ninja girl mentioned if he dug a little bit.

Even in Hong Kong people had heard of the Bats. And these two? The American and the ninja girl? Qian had to be really stupid to ignore the obvious. He couldn’t afford to let Madame Cheon and Boss Kim realise just how much of a game changer they were.

All that was left was to find out if they wore the symbol, or if they used it for target practice.

Qian knew exactly where to start.

* * *

It took half an hour for Detective Leung to arrive. Kevin’s mother had long gone to sleep by then, but nothing else had changed much. Kevin was still trying to get used to the American being in _his_ home, drinking _his_ infusion, and doing _his_ job. He clearly thought they were all insane for teaming up, and was strangely reminiscent of Barbara whenever Cass told her she was stepping out to beat up every mobster in Gotham.

Leung and the Red Hood lost no time to start discussing strategies. Neither were the type to be impressed by the other. The Red Hood had worked with the very criminals he was hunting many times, and Cass could tell Leung had made her fair share of deals with them as well. Enemies and allies were nothing short of temporary.

Kevin managed to slip into the conversation ten minutes in. They were throwing names and alliances and ideas in the mix, most of which Cassandra was unfamiliar with. Sometimes, they turned to Cantonese.

For her part, Cassandra was completely out.

It wasn’t that she was stupid or even inexperienced. She sure _felt_ like it at moments like these, but to her, this was like when people discussed what to eat for dinner, or where to buy clothes. The tactic that would be chosen didn’t really matter much as long as it worked, and for Cassandra the default option of brute forcing the whole thing was always there.

She was like Nightwing in that respect. She didn’t bother finding the optimum solution as long as she had one. She was adaptable enough to change course on the field. To jump in, see, assess, react, and repeat.

Politics were a waste of time when people’s lives were in danger.

But this way of thinking had already caused one gang war, and so Cass tried to focus her attention on the conversation, no matter how futile it felt. It was all about the big picture, the long term, the ripples in the sea. She hated it, but she was outmatched by far in this field.

The words entered her ears without staying. She concentrated hard only to notice she was concentrating too much on concentrating, and had missed the past ten minutes of conversation. She found herself glancing at the clock every time someone launched into a new paragraph. She noticed Leung fidgeting with her pen. Jason had a mosquito bite under his chin. Kevin had something in his slipper he was trying to remove discreetly.

She knew it was important but _god_ was it boring. They were all nitpicking each other’s words, bringing up more problems, turning in circles.

An hour in the war meeting and she had slipped out of the apartment, and onto the flat roof of the building. She dived towards the streets.

She wasn’t sure what she was going for. There were no open crimes like in Gotham. There was nothing like Gotham. Here, crime wasn’t burglary or murder. It was loopholes and bribery, corruption and coercion. Here there was nothing to punch and by god did Cassandra want to punch something.

Always on the move. To the next city. To the next ally. To the next mission. Batman and his endless list of challenging jobs and tasked had been a real heaven to her. But here everyone was telling her to stand down, to wait, to sit, to _watch_ – did they not understand what that meant for her? Inaction was her silence, and she was done with being silenced, _controlled_.

Cassandra jumped from one building to the other, desperately wishing for some idiot to mug someone.

She wanted to scream, but not out loud. Never out loud. Her scream was beating up something until her knuckles bled. Was she some kind of cursed? Was she destined to be a weapon for violence after all? Even with the best of intentions – saving someone’s _life_ – the decisions she took brought down Armageddon. Was there nothing she could _do_? Maybe it was just her nature, and it was pointless to fight against it.

Except Cassandra wasn’t the type to accept defeat. She usually didn’t have to. She wasn’t used to losing. Not even against fate. She didn’t like it. It made her restless, angry.

The sky was slowly growing brighter. Not any more colorful, just brighter. From black to grey. At midday it would practically be white. At that moment though, it was only getting bright enough for Cassandra to have troubles melting in the shadows. There were no gargoyles to hide her here. She barely had any window ledges to hang to.

It had been two hours since she had left the briefing. Already. They had to have noticed. They were probably going to be angry at her, though she wasn’t sure if they _could_ get angrier. Still, it was best to go back before the Red Hood got trigger happy.

(She wasn’t worried for Leung and Kwan, they seemed to be on the same wavelength as him when it came to the task at hand. Cassandra was the odd one out. Always. Living at a different pace.)

How early was it? Five in the morning? The island was already getting busy. Cars and buses had started filling the road, thought they had never really stopped. She liked this city, where everyone was always busy, where buildings were built and torn down within five years. Where everything moved and changed and nothing ever stayed the same.

It wasn’t mutual. The city never seemed out of ways to tell Cassandra she didn’t belong.

The girl dropped from the façade she was on. It was getting pointless to try and stay out of sight. If she had to be seen, then it would be as she mingled amongst everyone else, blending in. Her clothes were normal enough anyways.

She started walking towards Kevin’s apartment building. She knew roughly where it was, judging by how far and how many turns she had made running away from it. No one looked twice at her as she walked the pavement. All the effort they went through not to be seen back in Gotham, and here anonymity was given.

An exclamation caught her attention.

There were no big accidents or dangers. Just a toppled wheelbarrow, scattered newspapers, and an old man already gathering everything up. The mountains of stacked newspapers she had been wheeling were practically as tall as her.

All her turmoil dissolved as the man rubbed his aching back.

Well, Cassandra had already accepted that there would clearly be no punching. She walked up to him and started gathering the other stray newspapers, catching those that were closer to the road. The old man looked surprised when she tucked them back into their piles on the wheelbarrow. He placed a hand with crooked fingers on her arm gently, told her a few things in Cantonese, gave her a smile full of yellow teeth, and then went on his way.

And that was it. Life went on.

Cassandra grinned. It was small, and it was petty, but Hong Kong had cracked. Someone had given her a smile. A warm, grateful touch. Acceptance. And now she was going to be insufferable about it.

She was back on Kevin’s roof before she knew it, but she kept her eyes on the streets below. Watching the people. The Salaryman with a suit clumsily stitched back together. The school children shoving each other. The businesswoman playing a video game on her phone. She couldn’t get enough of watching the city as it woke up.

She was still there when the Red Hood found her an hour later.

“We didn’t even notice you left,” he told her, placing his forearms on the ledge she was sitting on. “I half expected we’d find you sitting on top of a mountain of unconscious Triad bosses.”

There was no way her absence hadn’t been noted eventually. The three had spent _hours_ discussing strategy without her. Clearly she hadn’t been missed much.

Well, the whole situation was her fault.

“I considered it.”

“Of course you did. I’m starting to think Kwan wasn’t kidding when he suggested putting you on a fucking leash.”

Kwan wasn’t the type to make jokes. Especially not around the American. Cassandra had a feeling the Red Hood was not entirely joking either. There was a chance she was pushing her luck a bit too far.

“I thought you’d be angrier,” Cassandra confessed, “I ruined your position.”

“I haven’t slept in _days_ ,” the Red Hood groaned, “I’m too tired to be pissed. I don’t _want_ to get angry. I might shoot you in the head later today though. We’ll see.”

Of course. The girls had been missing for much longer than Cassandra had been in Hong Kong. She wasn’t sure why she was so surprised the young man had been giving his all into this job. He had been Robin once, surely he had the same capacity for good as any of them. It was impossible to don the cape and fight in His shadow without falling in love with humanity. Yet somehow, Cassandra kept a rougher image of the Red Hood. Perhaps it was because they never talked about him as the ‘good soldier’ his case was labelled with. Batman talked about his impulsiveness, his recklessness. Nightwing about his insanity and how dangerous the madman was. Robin about the hole he left to fill.

She remembered when Batman had brought her to his grave. It was the only time she’d heard of Jason Todd instead of the unfortunate Robin. They were about the same age. She wondered if maybe they had more in common. Maybe the others couldn’t understand him. Maybe he couldn’t understand the others.

But maybe, maybe, _they_ could come to some understanding between them.

“You can _try_.”

“I heard a lot about the One Who is All,” he said conversationally, before grimacing, “but no one told me she’d be such a little shit.”

“Weird. First thing everyone told me about _you_.”

Cassandra was keenly aware of how thin the ice she was walking on was. The Red Hood’s relationship with the other Bats was an S ranked sensitivity issue, and the Red Hood was just a fuse away from blowing up.

But when Cassandra Cain wanted to run, she ran. The breaking ice would never catch up to her. Besides, she wanted no part in the drama. Steph and Tim had tried making her watch TV series, and Cass had found them utterly ridiculous. Everyone, dancing around personal issues like cavemen trying to change a lightbulb. Even before they got caught by Batman Cass had sworn off watching these idiocies. She would not be part of a real life one.

The Red Hood must have found her openness refreshing, because instead of snapping, he snorted.

“But you _have_ heard of me,” he replied with a grin. Cassandra felt like there were more to his words. His tone let her believe she was meant to laugh. It was a clever response, but Cassandra had learnt to realize when she was missing something… cultural. At her silence, he understood the reference was lost on her, and continued, “So, Kwan and Leung, they don’t know who you are?”

“I’m Cass.”

“I meant Batgirl. You know I meant Batgirl. They’d trust you if you told them. The Bat is heavy credential.”

“I’m not Batgirl anymore.”

“You’re not…?” At this, the young man stammered in outrage, “What, Dickface _fired_ you?”

She hadn’t expected such a vehement reaction. Part of her wanted to fuel it, because it had completely wiped out any negative feelings he had for her. Quickly though, she mounted to Nightwing’s defense. She wasn’t that close to him anymore, but he didn’t deserve the Red Hood’s ire.

“No, Batman asked me. Before he was gone. There’s someone else.”

“He did _what_? And you just gave it up? If you want it back—“

Why was he so angry for her?

“No. She _needs_ it. I don’t.”

“You _earnt_ it.”

Cassandra looked back at him, something inscrutable in her eyes. It was like she was trying to find the right words to describe her point of view – but every sentence she formed in her head was a syllable away from her true intentions. Perhaps it was not a question of vocabulary. Perhaps she was simply trying to tell him something he just couldn’t understand.

Or maybe she was just taking pity on him. He was so focused on his past and what was taken from him, that he never saw the endless possibilities he was offered. More than that, he was completely fixated by the violent end to his career as Robin and the fallout, that it was like he forgot all about how well the Dynamic Duo had worked out during.

He just couldn’t imagine that someone would willingly allow their codename to be taken from them. That someone could be _more_ than just a name. How worthless he must have felt now that Robin wasn’t his.

“I was Batgirl,” she finally said, enunciating everything carefully, “Three years. I loved it. It’s enough. I’m not… I can move on.”

“But you don’t need to,” he insisted. He wished her to be the victim in this story.

“I _want_ to. I want to get better. I want to be like Him. Forward. Always. _Better_ than Him. I’ve been Batgirl. I don’t need to stay Batgirl to know I’m… _worth_ it.” She looked away, as if giving up on pushing the message through his skull, “Your men don’t know who you are… too?”

“Either. Yes, well, if word got out that the Red Hood was in Hong Kong, the Dickster would find out, and that beats the purpose of being here,” Jason replied, nonchalantly. “You know we’re not going to be best friends if you worship B like that.”

“Don’t have to be enemies _either_. You let Batman’s choice of friends choose yours?”

It was a childish challenge, an obvious game of chicken. Yet the Red Hood gave her a bright grin, and she knew she had done right giving him a way out of being angry at everyone, “Never.”

So he wasn’t just a cocoon of anger and violence. She had guessed as much during their first confrontation. She didn’t need to be on her toes around him. No one did. Or maybe Cass was the one being reckless.

This was the man who’d shot the new Robin in the chest. The man who had attacked Tim multiple times, and stabbed him. He couldn’t even justify himself with mind control like Cassandra could. There was no need to be scared of him, but maybe she was _supposed_ to hate him a bit more.

No. She had tried anger before. She had tried vengeance. And it had done nothing but take her blood and tears. Given others more reasons not to trust her. Sent her down paths she had sworn never to take. Tainted the symbol on her chest, and with it all her achievements. Looking at the Red Hood, it seemed that he was slowly coming to the same conclusion. With just a little push.

No one was unforgivable. She _had_ to believe that.

“He’s dead,” Cassandra reminded him, “I'm not wearing a symbol. You're not wearing a helmet. We’re just Cass and Jason.”

“Jason and Cass,” the Red Hood corrected her.

“Cass and Jason. You’re my sidekick.”

“Man, I don’t know if you know, but it’s usually sidekicks who accidentally start gang wars,” Jason commented.

“Speaking from experience? I heard from Robin what you did before going to prison.”

“I didn’t _start_ the war.”

“You didn’t stop it.” Cass smirked, “You didn’t _do_ anything. Except get caught. Sidekicks get caught. What was the word…? _Damsels_.”

Jason shoved her off the roof.

Her laughter matched the ease and grace at which she caught herself.

“Fine. We’re _both_ sidekicks,” Jason compromised.

“No,” she told him as she landed back at his side, “none of us. We’re _better_.”

Jason smiled earnestly, like he’d found a glitter of ambition and hope he’d lost past the point of remembering its existence, “Yeah, better. Better than Batman.”

It was more than sloppy banter at the end of a long day. More than two young adults fantasizing about the perfect life and talking about what they’d do once they won the lottery and became billionaires. It was a challenge. An end goal. A common road. Because for all Cassandra admired Batman and Jason hated him, they both wanted to surpass him, and there was no stronger bond than that of wanting to kick the Batman’s ass.

It didn’t matter that he was dead.

“Yes.” They would. One day.

In the meantime, they had a gang war to stop.

**Author's Note:**

> So? What d'you think?


End file.
